:nia 
,1 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


A  STRANGE  RECORD 


A  STRANGE  RECORD 


By 

MOUNT  HOUMAS 

Author  of   "A  Tragic  Contract,"   "A  Dreamer's 
Harvest,"  etc. 


New  York  and  Washington 

THE  NEALE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

1908 


\ 

To  the  Inmates  of 


"STATEN" 

Barbados,  W.  I. 

In  grateful  remembrance  of  a  very  happy  visit 


CONTENTS. 
Chapter.  Page. 

«2         I     Dr.  Ethel  Leon,   7 

£        II     The  Gray  Cottage,    20 

>~      III     The  Evolution  of  Dr.  Ethel  Leon, 36 

Si       IV    The  Silly  Boy, 62 

V    The  Mediator,    76 

VI     A  Cap  Which  Fitted  Many, 90 

£      VII     What  Time  Did, 1 10 

in    VIII     Further  Developments,   126 

g      IX    A  Master  Riddle,  148 

X     Seth's  Mission,    160 

XI    A  Gleam  of  Hope, 178 

<5      XII     Its    Probing,    , ; 195 

°    XIII     Wizard's  Work, 209 

;>    XIV    Woodlands, 225 

XV    Addie,     239 

XVI    Till  the  Sea  Gives  Up  Its  Dead, 260 

Lj                Epilogue,    275 


452 


Copyright,  1908,  by 
The  Neale  Publishing  Company 


CHAPTER  I 

DR.    ETHEL   LEON 

Dr.  Ethel  Leon  sat  in  her  neat  office  reading; 
Dr.  Ethel  Leon  usually  spent  her  office  hours  thus, 
and  when  the  hours  which  her  bright  door-plate 
stated  would  find  her  at  home  were  over,  she, 
caring  little  for  the  social  side  of  life,  rambled  all 
over  the  quaint  old  town  of  New  Orleans,  and  / 
tried  to  school  her  impatient  spirit  into  passivity. 
For  Dr.  Ethel  Leon  had  been  qualified  two  years, 
and,  except  two  street  accidents,  occuring  provi 
dentially  in  the  near  neighborhood  of  her  sign, 
she  had  not  met  with  any  practice.  She  found  her 
sex  a  terrible  drawback  in  the  profession  she  had 
elected  to  follow,  and  so  keenly  enjoyed;  and  the 
prejudice  against  a  woman-doctor  was  a  hundredx 
per  cent,  stronger  in  the  South  than  in  the  North./ 
If  it  was  gradually  dying  out,  as  many  were  fond 
of  saying,  and  there  really  was  a  promising  open 
ing  for  women  in  medicine,  Ethel  certainly  failed 
to  find  it.  She  was  probably  the  pioneer  of  the 
lady-doctors  in  New  Orleans. 

Her  active,  confident  spirit  chafed  at  all  that 
was  offered  to  her — even  the  two  mites  who  had 
fallen  to  her  share  had  been  reluctantly  submitted 
to  her  skilful  ministrations,  very  palpably  faute- 


8  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

de-mieux,  and  had  been  consigned  as  quickly  as 
possible  to  masculine  supervision.  She  shrank 
from  returning  to  her  native  North,  in  spite  of  its 
advantage  of  being  less  conservative;  for  the 
South  claimed  Ethel  body  and  soul,  and  all  her 
leanings  were  tropical. 

She  was  at  Mrs.  Rice's  boarding-house,  of 
whom  she  had  rented,  besides  her  bedroom,  two 
extra  rooms,  as  office  and  waiting-room  respec 
tively;  and  Mrs.  Rice  had  graciously  permitted  the 
display  of  the  sign.  Indeed  Ethel,  paying  well  as 
she  did  for  all  considerations  and  never  grumbling, 
was  regarded  as  an  immense  acquisition  by  the 
harassed  boarding-house  keeper.  Besides,  Mrs. 
Rice  had  grown  to  like  the  quiet,  capable  woman, 
whose  reserve  was  so  gentle  and  dignified  that  it 
appealed  to  your  respect  and  awed  away  any 
thought  of  offence.  And  so  had  a  great  many 
others.  As  usual,  Ethel  had  soon  made  many 
warm  friends.  Backed  by  them,  she  had  boldly 
fought  for  several  public  appointments,  but  had 
been  always  utterly  routed.  And  so  the  waiting 
game  went  on, — the  most  soul-racking  game  that 
life  can  set  us  to  play, — and  Ethel  bore  with  it  as 
best  she  could. 

After  office  hours  one  afternoon,  Ethel  went 
out  to'  "St.  Roches"  on  one  of  her  customary 
lonely  excursions.  She  sat  for  a  long  time  in  the 
tiny,  quaint  chapel,  and  marveled  over  the  strength 
of  purpose,  the  patient  perseverance,  which  had 


DR.  ETHEL  LEON  9 

enabled  one  poor  priest  to  build  it  unaided.  St. 
Roche  had  vowed  to  build  it  himself  as  a  thank- 
offering  to  God  should  his  flock  be  spared  from 
one  of  the  terrible  epidemics  of  by-gone  days,  and 
they  had  escaped;  and  he  had  kept  his  big  vow, 
when  so  many  little  ones  went  under.  Ethel  felt 
her  own  sturdy  will-power  swell  within  her  as  she 
thought  admiringly  of  the  faithful  priest;  why 
shouldn't  she  achieve  something  big  too?  She  felt 
strong  enough,  and  willing  enough,  God  knows ! 
She  only  wanted  the  opportunity.  She  looked  at 
the  tawdry  images  round  the  little  altar,  particu 
larly  at  a  ghastly  reclining  image  of  the  crucified 
Christ;  at  the  cluster  of  crutches  and  other  arti 
ficial  supports  left  there  by  faith-healed  cripples; 
at  the  numerous  white  strips  of  china  bearing 
"Merci"  in  big  black  letters,  which  grateful  bene 
ficiaries  had  hung  round  the  altar  walls;  at  the 
generous  offering  of  candles,  flickering  and  flutter 
ing  in  their  tin  receptacles  before  the  small  shrine ; 
and  then  she  smiled  and  sighed.  She  felt  rather 
sadly  above  it  all — sadly,  because  she  was  con 
scious  that  the  ignorant  superstitious  hearts  that 
left  those  pathetic  tokens  there  were  lighter  ones 
than  hers.  It  would  be  nice,  she  thought,  to  be 
able  to  kneel  down  confidently  in  that  quiet  spot, 
and  pray  for  her  coveted  wide  field  of  labor;  and, 
after  spending  a  few  coins  on  candles  and 
"Mercis"  go  away  with  the  exhilarating  belief 
that  she  would  get  what  she  had  asked  for !  She 


IO  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

watched  a  few  of  the  devout  visitors,  half  cur 
iously,  half  tenderly ;  and  envied  them  their  cheer 
ing  faith.  For  a  woman  or  two,  a  child  or  two, 
and  a  youth  or  two  had  strolled  in  severally  during 
her  long  sojourn  there;  had  knelt  awhile,  and  crept 
away  again.  The  gathering  dusk  warned  Ethel 
that  she,  too,  must  go. 

The  chapel  stood  in  a  small  burial-ground,  and 
she  wandered  round  this  before  taking  her  reluc 
tant  leave  of  the  peaceful  spot.  She  paused  in  a 
certain  place  said  to  have  been  the  grave  of  a  fair 
*  young  girl,  whose  desolate  sweetheart  had  com 
mitted  suicide  upon  it,  and  where  afterward  there 
^jl/  sprang  up  a  red-spotted  clover  to  commemorate 
the  tragedy.  The  grave  had  been  trampled  flat, 
but  the  blood-stained  clover  still  flourished.  Ethel 
plucked  a  specimen  or  two,  wondering  what 
natural  explanation  could  account  for  its  peculiar 
ity  and  so  destroy  the  pretty  romance — and  thus 
wondering  betook  herself  home. 

Mrs.  Rice's  boarding-house  was  rather  a  faded 
and  battered,  but  still  stately  looking  red  stone 
mansion  in  Prytania  Street,  possessing  the  usual 
plethora  of  verandas  and  galleries,  and  a  good  bit 
of  garden.  Indeed,  it  stood  in  the  part  of  the 
"Crescent  City"  popularly  known  as  the  Garden 
Y^*^  District.  In  the  good  old  days  it  had  no  doubt 
been  the  scene  of  much  hospitality  and  many  a 
revel,  Ethel  thought,  as  she  traversed  its  wide  and 
lofty  hall  and  ascended  the  staircase  to  her  room. 


V*  4* 

.  o-  » t 


DR.  ETHEL  LEON  1 1 

This  latter  was,  as  indeed  were  all  the  rooms,  of  a 
generous  size  and  height,  and  its  floor  was  covered 
by  a  cool,  fresh-looking  matting.  It  boasted  of 
three  French  windows,  now  veiled  by  green  shut 
ters,  or  jalousies,  and  opening  on  to  a  gallery. 
The  room's  big  coolness  and  dimness  were  grate 
ful  to  Ethel,  for  the  weather  was  glary  and  sultry. 
She  looked  longingly  at  the  great  mahogany  bed 
stead  enveloped  in  its  snowy  mosquito-netting, 
for  she  felt  fagged  in  mind  and  body,  with  that 
tiredness  and  flatness  of  spirit  that  "nothing  to  do" 
mothers.  But  the  dinner  hour  was  fast  approach 
ing,  so  she  freshened  herself  up  for  it  instead;  and 
then  throwing  abck  the  shutters,  she  stepped  on 
to  the  gallery.  A  big  rocking-chair  met  her  gaze 
invitingly,  and  she  sank  into  it.  Suddenly  she  said 
aloud  to  herself: 

"I  don't  think,  I  really  don't  think,  that  I  can 
stand  this  much  longer !  I  feel  less  settled,  less 
patient  than  ever — and  God  knows  I've  suffered 
enough  already  that  way !  But  my  enterprise  is 
lively  enough,  at  any  rate.  Now,  Ethel,  there  is 
nobody  else  to  consult — wake  up  ! — what  shall  we 
do?" 

The  discordant  clanging  of  the  dinner-bell  dis 
turbed  her  reflections.  She  descended  at  once,  glad 
to  put  aside  her  unsatisfactory  thoughts. 

The  dining-room  was  a  huge  apartment,  with 
four  full-sized  dining  tables  in  it.  The  numerous 
boarders  quickly  assembled,  and  pleasant  greet- 


12  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

ings  were  exchanged.  Ethel,  after  chatting  with 
one  or  two  awhile,  took  her  place  at  a  corner  table, 
and  immediately  began  to  speculate  over  a  letter 
before  her  in  an  unknown  handwriting.  As  the 
lady  and  gentleman,  husband  and  wife,  who  faced 
her,  were  absorbed  in  a  subdued  but  evidently  bit 
ter  domestic  difference,  and  the  remaining  three 
gentlemen  were  absorbed  in  their  evening  papers, 
and  the  youth  beside  her,  having  got  there  first, 
was  completely  absorbed  by  his  soup,  she  felt  it 
would  rather  be  polite  than  otherwise  to  make  her 
presence  as  little  obtrusive  as  possible  by  becoming 
absorbed,  in  her  turn,  in  her  puzzling  letter.  So 
she  opened  it,  and  read  it. 

It  was  from  a  good  friend,  although  he  had 
not  had  occasion  to  write  to  her  before.  Mr. 
Keystone  was  a  jolly,  hot-tempered,  kind-hearted 
West  Indian,  who  had  settled  in  New  Orleans 
long  ago.  The  summer  following  Ethel's  advent 
South,  he  had  spent  some  three  months  at  Mrs. 
Rice's,  during  the  absence  of  his  family  at  the  sea 
side,  when  his  own  handsome  residence  had  been 
closed;  and  he  and  Ethel  had  quickly  become  the 
best  of  friends.  On  the  return  of  his  family, 
Ethel  had  been  introduced  to  them  speedily;  and 
now  she  was  in  the  habit  of  spending  many  a  pleas 
ant  evening  at  their  house,  when  her  loyal  host 
would  pour  into  her  eager  ears  various  fascinating 
accounts  of  the  Carribean  Isles. 

He  was  a  native  of  St.  Kitts,  and  having  left 


DR.  ETHEL  LEON  13 

no  ties  there,  had  never  returned;  but  he  retained 
a  vivid  recollection  of  his  native  isle  and  of  many 
of  her  sister  islands,  and  was  excessively  fond  of 
descanting  on  their  many  beauties  and  delights. 
His  letter  now  informed  Ethel  that  his  old  family 
physician  was  just  dead  (which  she  knew),  and 
it  proceeded  to  ask  her — oh,  wonder  of  wonders! 
oh,  boon  of  boons! — would  she  kindly  supply  his 
place?  A  little  patient  was  awaiting  her  skill;  if 
she  would  please  to  look  in  that  evening. 

Ethel  left  the  dining-room  as  soon  as  she  could 
manage  it.  Her  own  room  gained,  she  put  Mr. 
Keystone's  letter  to  her  lips  out  of  pure  gratitude 
and  delight.  She  was  soon  ready  for  the  street 
and  on  her  way.  This  would  no  doubt  lead  to 
other  things ! — she  had  reached  the  turning  of  the 
long  lane,  and  it  had  burst  before  her  at  the  very 
moment  she  was  thinking  of  turning  back.  She 
scolded  herself  fiercely  for  her  impatience — it 
might  have  cost  her  this  splendid  chance!  Mr. 
Keystone  had  a  troop  of  children,  and  a  feeble 
wife,  and  a  wide  circle  of  friends.  Ethel  was  ex 
ultant.  And  thus  brightly  did  her  third  year  as 
M.  D.  open. 

But  as  the  year  grew,  disappointment  and  un 
rest  stole  back  upon  her.  They  developed  rapidly, 
although  her  piece  of  luck  had  failed  to  do  so. 
The  little  Keystones  were  rather  an  exasperatingly 
healthy  lot,  and  their  rare  ailments  were  of  a  piti 
fully  simple  description.  Their  mother  proved — 


14  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

alas! — one  of  those  purely  fanciful  invalids,  who 
nursed  her  imaginary  woes  with  unfailing  relish; 
and  thus  she  offered  nothing  worthy  of  Ethel's 
scientific  turn  of  mind,  besides  irritating  her  ter 
ribly.  And  last,  but  by  no  means  least,  Mr.  Key 
stone's  numerous  friends  showed  no  disposition 
whatever  to  take  up  the  lady-doctor  profession 
ally  and  afford  her  employment.  So  Ethel's  te 
dious  waiting  and  lonely  introspective  rambling 
went  on,  while  her  hope  and  endurance  died  by 
leaps  and  bounds. 

One  afternoon,  feeling  particularly  down 
hearted,  and  remembering  that  everything  is  a 
matter  of  comparison,  she  turned  her  steps  toward 
the  old  Royal  Hotel,  which  was  at  that  time  in 
disuse,  and  penetrated  to  the  lower  rotunda,  which 
in  the  days  gone  by  had  been  one  of  the  most  popu 
lar  old  slave  auction  marts.  The  usual  youth  in 
his  shirt-sleeves  appeared  to  do  the  honors  of  the 
place,  but  Ethel  gave  him  a  tip  and  begged  to  be 
left  to  think  it  all  out  alone,  and  he  fell  in  with 
her  view  with  alacrity.  The  dismal  spot  had  been 
built  round,  and  over,  but  its  individuality  had 
been  respected,  and  the  names  of  the  auctioneers 
were  still  to  be  seen  and  read  on  its  walls.  There 
were,  too,  the  grim  iron  railings  behind  which  the 
unfortunate  slaves  used  to  be  clustered. 

Ethel  went  and  looked  in  at  the  enclosed  space, 
and  tried  to  imagine  a  little,  just  a  little,  of  the 
desperate  hopes,  the  ghastly  fears,  the  agonizing 


DR.  ETHEL  LEON  15 

suspense  that  dreary  cage  had  once  encompassed. 
What  were  her  own  worries  in  comparison  ?  They 
receded  in  shame  at  the  thought.  Before  the  rail 
ings  was  the  little  platform,  all  grimed  and  worn, 
on  which  the  slaves  had  been  put  up  at  auction. 
Ethel  stepped  on  to  it,  and  walked  round  it.  What 
injustice  and  brutality  had  not  those  crumbling 
boards  seen !  Her  vivid  imagination  pictured  a 
father,  a  mother,  and  a  child  placed  severally  upon 
it,  and  sold  to  different  merciless  masters — sold 
like  the  lower  order  of  beasts,  in  spite  of  a  human 
soul,  human  feelings,  and  human  intelligence, 
merely  because  their  skin  was  black!  She  stepped 
down  and  examined  the  large  iron  safe  standing 
near,  and  cloaked  in  Time's  red  rust,  which  had 
held  the  blood-money.  She  wondered  at  the  long 
respect  shown  to  its  fast-closed  door,  and  tried 
to  guess  what  secrets  it  might  still  hold.  And  then 
she  walked  away  to  study  an  old  wooden  bar, 
stained  and  chipped,  and  battered  and  black 
ened — the  identical  old  bar  across  which  the  slave- 
dealers  were  served  with  drinks  when  their  ne 
farious  business  was  over. 

On  her  way  home,  having  plenty  of  time  on 
her  hands,  she  strolled  into  a  building  containing 
relics  of  the  civil  war.  She  had  the  good  luck  to 
meet  there  a  slender,  stately,  white-haired  Confed-  V 
erate  officer,  with  a  pathetic  quaver  in  his  voice, 
who  courteously  showed  her  round,  and  conde 
scended  to  tell  her  many  little  anecdotes  of  the 


1 6  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

war.  Ethel  looked  at  the  collected  mementoes  of 
the  Confederacy  with  interest, — they  were  care 
fully  and  artfully  displayed, — and  she  listened  to 
her  guide  with  due  attention  and  respect;  but, 
somehow,  it  all  failed  to  appeal  to  her.  Its  im- 
pressiveness,  to  her,  paled  before  the  simple, 
humble,  untouched  tragedy  of  the  old  slave- 
market. 

She  was  very  fond  of  exploring  the  French 
quarter  of  the  town,  and  had  made  herself  ac 
quainted  with  all  its  show-places.  The  King's 
house,  which  had  sheltered  the  unfortunate,  ad 
venturous  Louis  Phillipe,  and  the  famous  haunted 
house  she  had  frequently  visited.  At  this  last 
place,  not  to  her  surprise  but  rather  to  her  disap 
pointment,  nothing  extraordinary  had  appeared 
to  her.  It  would  not  have  been  exactly  pleasant 
to  have  been  treated  to  a  sight  of  the  favorite 
ghost,  the  slave-child,  running  round  and  round 
the  roof  and  jumping  into  space,  as  she  had  done 
in  life,  when  pursued  by  the  fiend-woman  whose 
hobby  was  the  murdering  of  her  slaves — still,  it 
would  have  been  an  experience,  and  the  monotony 
of  Ethel's  life  rather  craved  experiences  of  any 
kind.  Occasionally  she  went  to  the  two  close-lying 
pleasure  resorts,  but  her  favorite  excursions  were 
to  the  most  retired  parts  of  the  parks  and  of  the 
levee,  which  walled  out  the  murky  Mississippi, 
when  she  could  muse  and  wander  unobserved,  and 


DR.  ETHEL  LEON  1 7 

where  the  general  silence  and  peacefulness  were 
conducive  to  the  thinking  out  of  her  future. 

But  she  was  long  in  coming  to  a  decision,  be 
cause  she  couldn't  see  that  a  change  would  benefit 
her  in  any  way:  it  would,  no  doubt,  be  the  same 
old  story  over  again. 

The  winter  gaieties  of  New  Orleans,  the  balls 
connected  with  the  brilliant  mummeries  of  Mardi 
Gras,  Ethel  did  not  go  in  for;  but  she  was  fond 
of  the  theaters,  and  went  regularly.  Indeed,  the 
chum  of  her  nurse's  career,  which  career  had  pre 
ceded  her  going  in  for  the  M.  D.,  Nurse  Ken- 
worthy,  used  to  tell  her  she  had  mistaken  her  vo 
cation,  and  should  take  to  the  boards.  This  be 
cause  of  Ethel's  former  clever  and  perfect  mimicry 
of  the  doctors  and  pompous  visitors  to  the  hos 
pital,  in  the  intervals  when  she  had  been  off  duty. 

She  was  at  the  theatre  one  night  with  Miss  Ken- 
worthy,  the  latter's  brother,  and  a  friend  of  his, 
witnessing  an  extravagant  musical  farce,  of  which 
the  leading  woman's  part  was  admirably  played 
by  a  man. 

"How  splendidly  that  man  takes  off  a  woman !" 
Nurse  Kenworthy  remarked,  as  the  curtain  de 
scended  on  the  first  act.  "I  declare  the  deception 
is  perfect.  See  what  sufficient  painstaking  can  ac 
complish  !  I  wish  the  women  would  learn  to  per 
sonate  a  man  as  well — and  most  of  them  could,  I 
am  sure,  if  they'd  only  take  the  trouble,  consider 


I  8  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

every  detail,  as  he  has.  But  a  woman's  man  is  al 
ways  so  frankly  absurd,  and  she  is  satisfied  with 
it!  There  are  the  Keystones  in  that  box,  Ethel, 
bringing  their  opera-glasses  to  bear  upon  you. 
They  do  you  credit — they  all  look  blooming. 
What  a  pretty  little  thing  Mrs.  K.  is  !  But  spoiled 
and  affected,  I'll  go  bail,  eh?" 

She  turned  to  look  inquiringly  at  her  silent 
friend.  Ethel's  face  had  grown  very  white,  and 
there  was  a  strange  glitter  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  yes!"  she  replied  absently,  and,  following 
her  friend's  indicative  fan,  acknowledged  the 
Keystones'  greeting. 

"Aren't  you  well,  Ethel?"  asked  Miss  Ken- 
worthy,  studying  her  curiously. 

"No,"  was  the  slow  answer,  "I  don't  feel  quite 
myself  just  now.  But — but  it's  nothing — it  will 
pass.  Don't  take  any  notice." 

"Still,  let  us  go.  You  look  regularly  done  up. 
You'll  feel  better  out  of  this." 

"No,  no!  The  play  will  soon  be  over.  Don't 
let  us  make  any  disturbance." 

The  gentlemen  added  their  entreaties  to  Miss 
Kenworthy's,  but  Ethel  was  adamant. 

"I'm  not  going  to  faint,"  she  assured  them,  "I 
promise  you,  and  I  want  to  see  the  end  of  the  play. 
I'm  better  already.  There !  Look !  The  curtain 
is  going  up." 

But  when  she  reached  the  keenly  craved  solitude 
of  her  room  that  night,  Ethel  feverishly  tossed 


DR.  ETHEL  LEON  19 

aside  her  outdoor  wraps,  and  sinking  into  the 
chair  before  her  writing-table,  dropped  her  arms 
and  head  down  upon  it.  The  night  deepened,  and 
grew  old,  and  still  she  sat  there,  oblivious  of  time 
and  surroundings,  lost  in  a  furiously  pulsing  course 
of  thought.  It  was  in  the  very  early  hours  of  the 
morning  that,  with  a  great  sobbing  sigh,  she  awoke 
from  her  long  trance  of  thought,  and  staggered  to 
her  feet.  She  felt  stiff  and  chilled,  and  she  began 
to  tremble  violently. 

"I  am  not  going  to  be  ill,  I  hope,"  she  mur 
mured  to  herself,  as  she  proceeded  to  disrobe. 
"111!  What?  At  this  time  of  all  others — no,  not 
if  I  can  help  it,  not  if  I  can  help  it!" 

She  approached  the  dressing  table  to  put  out 
the  gas,  and  her  reflection  in  the  mirror  struck  her. 

"No!"  she  said  confidently,  as  she  gazed  long 
at  the  steady  luminous  eyes  reflected  there,  "I'm 
not  going  to  break  down  now,  thank  God!  But 
I've  struggled  so  long  in  the  darkness,  it's — it's 
only  natural  I  should  be  a  little  dazzled,  a  little 
shaky,  now  the  light  has  come!" 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  GRAY  COTTAGE 

"Mrs.  Rice,"  said  Ethel  the  next  morning,  as 
she  followed  that  lady  into  her  private  sitting- 
room  after  breakfast,  "can  you  spare  me  a  few 
minutes  now?  I  won't  detain  you  long." 

"Certainly,  Doctor.  With  pleasure.  Sit  down. 
Now  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

The  Doctor  sat  down,  and  immediately  pro 
ceeded  to  open  the  campaign. 

"You  can  do  nothing  for  me,  thank  you,  Mrs. 
Rice,"  she  began.  "But  I  wanted  to  tell  you — as 
soon  as  possible  for  your  greater  convenience — 
that  I  am  thinking  of  leaving  you  and  setting  up 
housekeeping  on  my  own  account." 

Mrs.  Rice  was  certainly  startled  by  the  news, 
and  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"Well  now!  You  do  surprise  me!"  she  ejacu 
lated.  "Are  you — might  I  ask  if — if — "  It  was 
not  easy  to  question  Ethel,  and  Mrs.  Rice,  in  spite 
of  her  strong  curiosity  on  the  subject,  paused. 

"If  what,  Mrs.  Rice?"  Ethel  asked  encourag 
ingly. 

"If  you  are  going  to — to  be  married?"  faltered 
that  lady,  wildly  casting  about  in  her  mind  as  to 
whom  the  gentleman  could  possibly  be! 


THE  GRAY  COTTAGE  21 

Ethel  burst  into  laughter. 

"Oh,  no!"  she  said  as  soon  as  she  could  speak. 
"Not  that,  Mrs.  Rice,  not  that!  I  don't  wonder 
at  your  surprise  now.  How  could  you  take  up  such 
a  ridiculous  notion  regarding  a  staid  old  maid  like 
me?  Why,  I'm  in  my  thirty-seventh  year,  and 
old  for  that." 

It  began  to  dawn  on  Mrs.  Rice  that  her  sur 
prise  was  not  complimentary,  and  she  at  once  com 
menced  to  put  things  right  with  all  due  tact. 

"Well,  I  always  thought  you  were  a  bit  above 
it,"  she  said  readily  and  craftily,  as  she  studied  in 
silent  disparagement  the  strong,  plain  face  and 
long,  thin  figure  before  her;  "that  nothing  com 
monplace  would  suit  you!"  And  even  as  she  spoke 
she  recalled  complacently  her  own  comfortable 
humdrum  married  life,  and  secretly  pitied  the  dis 
contented,  unclaimed  blessing  before  her. 

"Perhaps  it  is  a  bit  above  me,"  insinuated  Ethel 
•amusedly,  her  jdark  face  lighting  up  merrily. 

Mrs.  Rice  privately  thought  it  was, — "There's 
nothing  of  a  wife  or  mother  about  her!"  was  her 
disparaging  mental  comment, — but,  of  course,  she 
replied  promptly,  "No,  no!  No,  indeed!"  as  she 
fingered  the  little  adornments  about  her  matronly 
form  and  avoided  looking  at  the  object  of  her  pity. 

"No,"  continued  Ethel,  "my  reason  for  wishing 
to  leave  you  has  nothing  to  do  with  romance,  it  is 
a  purely  business  one." 


22  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

Doubts  as  to  the  cause  of  this  decision  instantly 
assailed  Mrs.  Rice. 

"Aren't — aren't  you  quite  comfortable,  Doc 
tor?"  she  stammered.  "I'm  sure  I've  tried  my 
best  to  make  you  so.  If  there's  anything  wrong, 
just  tell  me,  and  we'll  soon  put  it  right.  I  should 
be  awfully  sorry  to  lose  you.  After  so  long  too!" 

"Now  don't  you  run  away  with  any  such  idea," 
returned  Ethel  warmly.  "Believe  me,  there  is 
nothing  whatever  for  you  to  worry  over.  You've 
just  made  me  as  comfortable  as  a  queen,  and  you 
can't  be  more  sorry  to  lose  me  than  I  am  to  go. 
I  shan't  be  half  as  comfy  on  my  own  hook,  but — 
I  think  it  is  best  to  try." 

"Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Rice,  but  half  convinced. 
"Well,  I  don't  see  why." 

"My  reasons  are  many  and  various,"  returned 
Ethel  patiently,  "but  I  won't  bore  you  with  them, 
since  they  in  no  way  reflect  on  your  admirable  es 
tablishment.  They  are  absolutely  personal." 

There  was  no  getting  behind  this:  Mrs.  Rice 
was  obliged  to  dismiss  her  curiosity  and  let  her 
regrets  have  full  play. 

"Well,  I  suppose  I've  got  to  make  up  my  mind 
to  it,  Doctor,"  she  sighed,  "but  I  hate  the  thought 
of  your  going.  You're  just  like  one  of  the  family 
now,  and  a  favorite  with  everybody.  We  shan't 
quickly  fill  your  place." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Rice.  You're  very  good. 
I  hope  you'll  get  in  somebody  a  great  deal  better 


THE  GRAY  COTTAGE  23 

and  brighter.  I'm  sure  you  will — it  will  be  so 
easy!" 

Mrs.  Rice  shook  her  head,  and  inquired  sadly 
when  the  Doctor  intended  to  leave. 

"Well,  if  I  may,  I'd  like  to  stay  on  here  until 
I  find  a  suitable  cottage,"  said  Ethel.  "I  don't 
know  of  one  yet.  But  I  mean  to  begin  to  look 
about  me  to-day." 

"We  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  have  you  as  long 
as  we  can,"  graciously  responded  Mrs.  Rice. 
"And  if  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  you  in  the  way  of 
furnishing  or  getting  help,  just  let  me  knew." 

Ethel  expressed  her  acknowledgments  and  the 
interview  closed. 

So  all  Ethel's  leisure  was  now  given  up  to 
house-hunting,  and  the  show  places  of  the  Cres 
cent  City  knew  her  no  more.  With  many  a  bitter 
smile  she  still  rigorously  kept  her  office  hours,  and 
those  about  her  often  spoke  admiringly  of  her  pa 
tient  attention  to  the  business  which  never  came. 
They  marveled  too  that  she  should  be  so  bent  on 
attaining  it,  for  they  all  knew  her  to  be  a  woman 
of  means  and  position,  with  family  connections 
and  heaps  of  friends,  and  it  naturally  seemed  to 
them  that  she  could  have  spent  her  time  far  more 
agreeably.  She  pursued  her  house-hunting  with 
the  same  perseverance,  however,  but  it  was  some 
days  before  she  met  with  exactly  her  requirements. 
This  was  a  lonely  little  cottage  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  town,  and  it  completely  filled  her  eye.  It  had 


24  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

been  advertised  in  the  newspaper,  and  Ethel,  be 
fore  calling  at  the  given  address  for  the  key,  had 
gone  to  have  a  look  at  its  surroundings.  It  faced 
a  vacant  lot,  and  there  was  a  vacant  lot  on  each 
side  of  it,  and  one  behind;  thus  it  was  not  over 
looked,  although  there  were  houses,  straggling 
here  and  there  within  five  minutes'  walk  of  it.  It 
was  a  recently  laid  out  section,  which  was  just  be 
ginning  to  be  built  upon.  The  tiny  cottage  was 
quite  new,  and  painted  a  delicate  gray.  Its  little 
garden,  boasting  of  a  few  shrubs  and  bushes,  was 
enclosed  by  a  wooden  paling  some  three  feet  high, 
painted  to  match.  Ethel  noted  the  bell  placed  on 
the  gate  according  to  the  New  Orleans  custom; 
then  she  opened  the  gate,  and  mounted  the  two 
steps  to  the  porch.  She  tried  to  peep  through  the 
two  shuttered  windows  on  each  side  of  the  door, 
and  then  took  a  turn  or  two  on  the  little  porch. 
As  she  did  so  she  looked  about  her  earnestly  and 
thought  hard. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  suddenly  paus 
ing.  It's  a  little  too  rural,  not  to  say  desolate, 
for  all  ordinary  purposes,  and" — as  her  eyes  rested 
on  the  rough,  unpaved  roads — "would  prove  de 
cidedly  swampy  in  wet  weather,  I  am  sure.  But, 
as  it  is,  I  think,  if  I  may  have  you,  little  gray  cot 
tage  in  the  bulrushes,  you'll  do!"  She  leaned  on 
the  railing  of  the  porch,  and  ran  her  forefinger 
caressingly  along  its  top.  Then,  rousing  herself, 


THE  GRAY  COTTAGE  25 

she  went  swiftly  to  interview  the  landlady  and  get 
the  key. 

The  landlady  proved  to  be  a  humble,  elderly 
widow  of  ample  proportions  and  garrulous  tongue. 
She  was  attired  in  one  of  those  remarkable  gowns, 
much  favored  by  the  modest  Southern  matrons 
throughout  the  day,  although  in  appearance  more 
suggestive  of  the  privacy  of  one's  own  chamber 
and  the  night — a  gown  which  was  confined  at  the 
neck  and  nowhere  else,  and  flowed  in  straight 
ample  folds  to  the  feet.  It  certainly  was  not  neat, 
neither  could  it  be  said  to  be  artistically  careless, 
indeed  there  was  nothing  at  all  pretty  about  it — 
but  it  looked  so  comfortable !  And  Mrs.  Lith  was 
so  unconscious  of  it! 

Ethel  studied  the  fat,  pale,  placid  face  of  the 
wearer,  and  the  lilac  sprigs  on  the  white  calico  of 
which  the  wrapper  was  composed,  with  equal  in 
terest,  as  she  gave  a  brief  account  of  herself  and 
her  wants  to  her  amiable  listener.  Mrs.  Lith 
couldn't  have  received  a  prospective  tenant  with 
more  cordial  confidence  in  her  suitability,  and,  lest 
Ethel  might  feel  any  misgivings  upon  the  subject, 
she  began  as  soon  as  possible  to  glaze  over  the 
weak  point  of  the  cottage — namely,  its  loneliness. 
She  little  guessed  what  a  strong  point  that  was  to 
her  smiling  auditor. 

"Bless  you!  It  will  soon  be  all  built  up!  and 
be  a  nice  section  of  the  city,  too.  And  you'll  grow 


26  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

up  with  it,  and  have  it  all  your  own  way.  I 
reckon  that's  your  idea,  now,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ethel  absently. 

"Quite  right  too.  Nothing  like  being  the  only 
pebble  on  the  beach  to  start  with — no  matter  how 
,many  just  like  come  afterward,  you're  distinct 
Vfrom  'em  and  atop  of  'em.  They're  bound  to  feel 
it.  And  now,  see,  I'm  in  luck — for  Mr.  Menson, 
who  don't  hardly  know  what  to  do  with  his  dol 
lars,  is  agoing  to  build  a  big,  grand  house  right 
opposite  mine;  and  two  rich  people  own  the  lots 
on  each  side  of  me,  and  they  ain't  agoing  to  run 
up  any  shanties  I  reckon !  I  tell  you  the  cottage  is 
a  bargain  at  $20  a  month!" 

"You  built  on  a  lucky  spot,  it  seems,"  Ethel  re 
marked,  as  the  landlady  paused. 

"I  just  did,  Miss — I  beg  pardon,  Doctor.  And 
my  cottage  won't  disgrace  it  neither.  It's  small; 
but  it's  neat  and  well  built,  and  convenient.  My 
husband  left  me  that  bit  of  land,  and  I  said  I 
wouldn't  build  on  it  until  I  could  put  up  something 
good — and  I've  kept  my  word,  as  you'll  see. 
You'll  look  it  over  of  course.  Here's  the  key  then. 
Now  just  let  me  know  if  there's  anything  wanting 
to  your  mind,  and  I'll  try  to  meet  you  in  all  that's 
reasonable." 

Ethel  thanked  her,  and  strolled  back  to  the  cot 
tage,  amused  over  the  unnecessary  formality  of 
which  she  was  the  victim.  Had  the  interior  pre 
sented  every  known  inconvenience  and  disadvant- 


THE  GRAY  COTTAGE  27 

age,  Ethel  would  still  have  rented  that  cottage. 
But  it  would  not  do  to  awaken  the  smallest  sus 
picion.  So  she  unlocked  the  door,  and  wandered 
through  the  little  rooms,  scanning  them  with  a 
whimsically  critical  eye.  The  widow's  ideas  and 
tastes  and  hers  did  not  always  blend,  but  never 
theless  Ethel  murmured  contentedly  as  she  passed 
from  room  to  room: 

"Never  mind,  never  mind,  you'll  do,  you'll  do ! 
Now  I  wonder  if  a  tenant  was  ever  so  thoroughly 
and  so  easily  pleased  before?" 

When  she  thought  she  had  spent  the  time  ex 
pected  of  her  for  investigation,  she  returned  to 
Mrs.  Lith,  and  expressed  her  approval  of  the  cot 
tage  in  warm  terms.  The  landlady  was  delighted. 
If  a  tenant  had  been  a  little  long  in  coming,  at 
least  she  had  secured  one  worth  waiting  for — so 
easy-going  and  appreciative! 

"I  would  like  to  take  the  cottage  by  the  month," 
said  Ethel,  "and,  as  I  don't  want  to  bother  about 
references,  here's  a  month's  rent  in  advance  in  lieu 
of  them.  That  and  my  professional  standing  will 
do,  I  suppose?" 

"Oh,  yes !  I'll  just  write  you  the  receipt."  She 
did  so,  and  as  she  put  it  into  her  new  tenant's  hand 
she  looked  her  over  proudly. 

"So  you're  a  doctor!"  she  softly  ejaculated. 
"Well,  now,  you're  the  first  lady-doctor  I've  seen. 
I  reckon,  as  you've  taken  my  cottage,  you  can  have 


28  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

me  for  a  patient.  You  look  as  if  you  knew  some 
thing." 

Ethel  laughingly  expressed  her  gratitude. 

"And  see  here!"  cried  Mrs.  Lith,  as  Ethel  was 
turning  away,  after  shaking  hands.  "If  I  can  be 
of  any  help  to  you  in  getting  settled,  you  look  in 
and  let  me  know." 

"Thank  you  very  much,  I  will." 

Thus  the  bargain  was  concluded,  and  Ethel  went 
on  her  way.  She  communicated  her  discovery  to 
Mrs.  Rice  without  delay.  The  latter,  having  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  New  Orleans  and  its  out 
lying  parts,  immediately  inquired  the  location  of 
the  cottage. 

"Why,  Doctor,  you've  gone  out  into  the  wild 
erness!" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  returned  Ethel  cheerily. 
"Plenty  of  houses  and  people  within  a  few  minutes' 
walk  of  me,  and  my  view  is  warmly  seconded  by 
my  landlady — I  shall  grow  up  with  the  place  and 
have  everything  my  own  way." 

"Well,  I  suppose  there  is  something  in  that," 
conceded  Mrs.  Rice.  "But  won't  you  feel  it  too 
lonely  at  first?  I  should  be  scared  myself  to  live 
there  all  alone?" 

"Scared?"  retorted  Ethel.  "Not  I!  I  never 
felt  scared  in  my  life,  and  it's  too  late,  I  am  afraid, 
for  me  to  cultivate  that  pretty,  appealing  emotion. 
As  for  being  lonely — oh,  Mrs.  Rice,  I  am  too  fond 
of  my  own  company !" 


THE  GRAY  COTTAGE  29 

"I  believe  you  are.  But  you're  so  pleasant  and 
friendly  too!  Well  now,  I  suppose  you'll  be  aw 
fully  busy  for  a  while  packing  up  your  things  here 
and  fixing  up  the  cottage?" 

"Yes;    for  a  day  or  two." 

"Let  me  help  you  furnish,  Doctor,"  urged  Mrs. 
Rice,  with  all  a  woman's  ready  delight  in  such 
matters.  "I'm  sure  my  knowledge  of  the  stores 
and  of  housekeeping  will  be  of  some  help  to  you." 

"Many,  many  thanks,  my  good  friend,"  re 
turned  Ethel,  and  her  tone  was  grateful,  although 
her  eyes  were  averted  and  her  face  suddenly  a 
little  pale  and  set;  "but  I  couldn't  think  of 
troubling  you — your  time  is  too  valuable.  Be 
sides,  although  I  don't  for  a  moment  doubt  that 
you  could  help  me  very  much,  I'm  a  little  jealous 
and  proud  in  such  matters,  and  I  want  you  to  see, 
perhaps,  the  result  of  my  own  entire  taste  and  man 
agement.  I  don't  want  you  or  any  of  my  friends, 
really,  to  come  near  me  until  I'm  quite  settled — 
and  then — " 

"And  then  you'll  have  a  house-warming,  I  ex 
pect,"  said  Mrs.  Rice,  with  a  sympathetic  smile, 
and  burying  her  disappointment  over  the  furnish 
ing. 

"And  then  I  expect  there'll  be  a  house-warm 
ing,"  murmured  Ethel,  rubbing  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

"And  about  help?"  queried  Mrs.  Rice. 

"I've  heard  of  all  I  want  through  friends," 


30  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

vaguely  answered  Ethel.  Then  she  braced  herself 
up,  and  bending  down  gave  Mrs.  Rice  a  friendly 
kiss.  "No,  you  kind  soul,"  she  added,  "there's 
nothing  you  can  do — but  let  me,  as  the  canny  Scot 
says,  'gang  my  ain  gait.'  ' 

"She's  real  independent  and  real  reserved," 
Mrs.  Rice  muttered  to  herself  as  Ethel  turned 
away.  "But  she's  real  sweet,  too." 

In  three  days  Ethel's  preparations  were  com 
plete.  Very  early  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth 
day  the  expressman  called  according  to  arrange 
ment,  and  took  away  her  neatly  packed  trunks. 
After  a  short  interval  Ethel  descended  into  the 
hall,  ready  for  the  street.  In  the  hall  she  found 
Mrs.  Rice  and  her  boarders,  assembled  in  expec 
tation  of  the  ever-welcome  breakfast-bell. 

She  took  leave  of  them  in  turn,  beginning  with 
Mrs.  Rice,  with  her  usual  grace  and  tact.  She 
looked  peculiarly  pale  and  grave,  and  her  eyes  had 
an  anxious,  worried  expression,  which  they  did  not 
fail  to  notice.  But  they  concluded  that  she  was 
troubled  over  her  discouraging  prospects,  so  made 
no  comment,  but  good-naturedly  confined  them 
selves  to  giving  her  a  cheery  send-off.  So  there 
was  much  brightness  and  joking  mixed  up  with  the 
reluctant  farewells  to  the  old  close  association,  and 
many  references  to  their  pleasurable  anticipations 
in  her  first  house-warming. 

"Yes,  we'll  keep  away  until  you  give  us  the 


THE  GRAY  COTTAGE  31 

hint,"  they  cried,  "and  then  we  shall  expect  you 
to  surprise  us,  Doctor." 

"All  right,"  returned  Ethel,  with  a  slow  smile. 
"Perhaps  I  shall." 

"A  bientot  then." 

"A  bientot,  mes  amis." 

"But  why  so  early,  Doctor?"  urged  Mrs.  Rice, 
as  Ethel  turned  to  go.  "Do  have  some  breakfast 
first.  It  will  be  ready  in  a  few  moments  now." 

"No,  thanks,  I've  had  my  delicious  cup  of  early 
coffee,  Mrs.  Rice,  and  it's  worth  a  meal  any  day. 
Besides,  Canal  Street  quickly  fills  after  breakfast, 
and  I  want  to  get  some  shopping  done  before  the 
stores  are  crowded." 

So  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  Ethel  hurried  off 
on  her  quest.  She  made  several  simple  purchases, 
and  one  difficult  one,  that  severely  tried  her  nerve, 
although  outwardly  she  carried  off  the  situation 
admirably.  She  made  a  great  point  of  having  her 
purchases  sent  to  their  destination  at  once;  and 
then,  after  investing  in  a  tiny  lunch-basket,  which 
she  filled  with  a  few  wholesome  and  sustaining  nec 
essaries,  and  carried  off  on  her  arm,  she  betook 
herself  to  her  lonely  little  domicile. 

The  cottage  would  have  caused  a  severe  shock 
to  any  of  her  friends  had  they  entered  with  her. 
She  thought  this,  with  a  grim  smile,  as  she  glanced 
about  her.  For  the  stillness  was  not  broken  by 
the  sound  of  a  servant  of  any  description,  no  cov 
ering  of  any  sort  hid  the  bareness  of  the  floors, 


32  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

and  not  a  stick  of  furniture  showed  itself  any 
where.  There  was  no  maid  to  attend,  no  bed  to 
sleep  in,  no  pots  and  pans  to  cook  with,  not  even 
a  chair  to  sit  upon !  Ethel  stepped  to  the  end  of 
the  diminutive  hall,  where  a  single  step  led  down 
into  the  little  kitchen,  and  sitting  down  on  this 
precious  little  rest-affording  step,  threw  aside  her 
outdoor  adornments.  Then  she  leaned  back  com 
fortably  against  the  friendly  supporting  wall,  and, 
opening  her  basket,  prepared  to  recuperate  herself, 
pending  the  arrival  of  her  purchases.  So  she 
munched  away  leisurely  at  the  delicate  egg-sand 
wiches,  and  sipped  the  sweet  new  milk  with  which 
she  had  provided  herself;  and  meanwhile  gave 
her  tired  body,  mind,  and  nerves  a  much-needed 
rest. 

Half  an  hour  passed,  and  then  the  gate-bell 
clanged.  Ethel  started  up  eagerly,  and  hurried  to 
the  door.  Her  purchases  would,  too,  have  occa 
sioned  a  mere  on-looker  no  litttle  surprise.  The 
first  things  to  arrive  were  a  plain  but  good  mirror, 
about  two  and  a  half  feet  square;  a  good-sized 
lamp,  and  some  oil,  a  strong  pair  of  candle-sticks, 
and  a  box  of  candles;  a  small  but  sturdy  square 
table,  with  a  lower  shelf;  and  a  cane  folding 
lounging-chair.  She  took  these,  one  by  one,  from 
the  boy,  at  the  door,  and  carried  them  herself  into 
the  little  front  room  on  the  right.  Then  she 
watched  the  boy  re-enter  the  cart  which  had 
brought  him,  and  drive  away.  Closing  and  re- 


THE  GRAY  COTTAGE  33 

locking  the  door,  she  entered  the  little  room  where 
her  purchases  stood,  shrouded  in  their  paper  wrap 
pers.  She  freed  them  from  these,  and  carried  the 
waste  paper  into  the  kitchen. 

Returning  to  the  room,  she  set  the  mirror  on  the 
little  low  mantel-shelf,  as  securely  as  possible,  and 
placed  a  candle-stick,  decorated  with  a  candle,  on 
each  side  of  it.  She  drew  up  the  table  to  the  inner 
corner  of  the  hearth,  filled  the  tall  lamp,  and  put 
it  on  it.  Then  she  opened  out  the  chair  by  it,  and 
surveyed  the  whole  effect  with  satisfaction.  Now 
a  mirror,  a  lamp,  candles,  a  chair  and  table  are 
not,  of  course,  unusual  articles  in  house  furnishing, 
especially  the  lamp  and  candles,  where,  as  in  this 
instance,  the  domicile  did  not  boast  of  gas;  but 
they  look  strange  unsupported  by  such  essentials 
as  would  ordinarily  have  been  put  in  first,  and 
were  conspicuous  by  their  absence.  However,  it 
was  all  right  to  Ethel.  She  reclined  in  the  chair 
until  the  rest  of  her  purchases  made  their  appear 
ance  in  due  course,  and  completed  the  scenario. 

There  were  several  in  number  and  various  in 
size,  and  were  very  carefully  unpacked  and  dis 
posed  of.  Indeed,  Ethel  busied  herself  amongst 
them  for  some  little  time.  Then  she  had  a  frugal 
lunch,  and  afterward  became  absorbed  in  various 
books  and  pamphlets  which  she  took  from  the 
small  hand-bag  she  had  also  brought  with  her.  At 
last  the  welcome  dusk  came  on,  and  Ethel  went 


34  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

about  the  house,  carefully  making  all  as  dark  and 
snug  as  possible.  That  done,  she  lit  the  lamp  and 
candles,  and  drew  near  the  mirror.  She  raised  her 
hands  to  her  throat,  and  cast  aside  the  dainty  fem 
inine  neck-wear  which  embellished  it.  Then  she 
let  down  her  splendid  hair.  She  plunged  her 
hands  into  its  thick  masses,  and  resting  her  elbows 
on  the  edge  of  the  mantle-shelf,  studied  her  face  re 
lentlessly  in  the  gleaming  surface  of  the  looking- 
glass.  It  was  colorless  and  strained  looking;  but, 
breaking  through  this,  overshadowing  it,  was  the 
old  indomitable  courage,  resolution,  and  confi 
dence  of  the  stern  eyes  and  mouth. 

"What  was  it  Etta  said?"  she  whispered  to  her 
reflection,  thereby  raising  a  transitory  cloud  on  the 
shining  mirror.  "That  I  shouldn't  be  satisfied 
until  I  had  murdered  some  one?  Yes,  that  was  it, 
I  am  sure.  I  can  hear  her  say  it  now.  Dear, 
pretty,  thoughtless,  winsome,  laughing  Ettie! 
How  goes  the  old  proverb? — 'Many  a  true  word 
spoken  in  jest.'  Ah,  yes,  yes!  This  shall  be  one, 
little  sister."  She  suddenly  clasped  her  hands 
around  her  throat,  and  vindictively  apostrophized 
the  white,  strained  face  looking  back  at  her. 
"True !  Yes,  yes !  For  Ethel  Leon,  you  rank  fail 
ure,  you  useless  encumbrance  of  this  busy,  over 
crowded  old  world;  you  pitiful,  helpless,  contempt 
ible  thing — you  shall  die,  you  shall  die!  So  good- 
by,  Countess  of  Kilburne,  good-by,  Mrs.  Seth  Lo- 
mack,  good-by  dear  little  Ad !  It  wrings  my  heart 


THE  GRAY  COTTAGE  35 

to  say  it,  but  I  must — I  can't  see  my  way  other 
wise!  Besides,  you're  all  happy  and  well  looked 
after — you  don't  need  me.  You'll  wonder  and 
worry  a  bit.  .  .  .I'm  sorry  to  have  to  make  you! 
....  then  you'll  forget !  And  forgive,  too,  I 
hope." 

Two  great  tears  splashed  their  way  down  her 
cheeks,  quickly  followed  by  one  more. 

"There's  a  tear  for  each  of  you,"  she  said. 
Then  she  laughed  softly,  and  deftly  went  to  work. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON 

One  October  Saturday  afternoon,  some  nine 
,  years  previous,  Ethel  Leon  was  sitting  by  the  win 

dow  of  the  front  parlor  of  her  handsome  home  in 
Brooklyn,  gazing  idly  into  the  pretty,  shady,  quiet 
street;  and  Seth  Lomack  was  sitting  close  by  her, 
vainly  trying  to  rivet  her  attention  on  his  boyish 
adoration  of  her.  His  fair,  smooth  face  was 
flushed,  his  big  blue  eyes  were  sparkling;  and  he 
ran  a  small  white  hand  every  now  and  then  ner 
vously  through  his  light,  curly  hair. 

"You  ought  to  have  been  there,"  he  anxiously 
reiterated.  "When  you  refused  to  let  me  escort 
you,  I  concluded  some  other  fellow  had  been  more 
lucky.  You  said,  you  know,  when  I  asked  you  if 
you  were  going,  you  hadn't  made  up  your  mind. 
I'd  never  have  gone  otherwise.  I  felt  regularly 
sold,  when  your  sisters  told  me  you  weren't  there. 
Why  didn't  you  go,  Miss  Leon?  A  charity  ball, 
too!" 

"Oh,  I  bought  tickets,"  she  protested  in  her 
rather  full,  deep  voice,  and  giving  him  a  fleeting 
glance  and  smile,  the  underlying  charm  of  which 
subtly  thrilled  him,  "and  I  gave  them  away  to 
people  who  couldn't  afford  the  price  and  who 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  37 

could  enjoy  what  it  purchased.  Such  gatherings 
have  no  charm  for  me." 

"But  your  presence  there  would  have  charmed 
other  people,"  he  admonished  her.  "You  should 
be  more  unselfish." 

"My  presence!"  She  peeped  into  a  small  hand- 
painted  mirror  which  decorated  a  portion  of  the 
wall  at  her  side,  and  laughed  mockingly  at  the 
dark,  plain,  strong  face  it  reflected — a  face  full 
of  intelligence,  power,  and  latent  tenderness,  but 
possessing  no  vestige  even  of  ordinary  grace  or 
prettiness.  In  fact,  there  was  nothing  ordinary 
about  her. 

"Beauty  isn't  everything,"  Seth  murmured  sen- 
tentiously. 

"True,  oh,  Solomon !"  she  laughingly  returned. 
"But  it's  a  very  great  deal  to  most  people,  and  it's 
singularly  potent  too.  It  smiles  reason  into  silence, 
and  it  leads  judgment  by  the  nose,  and  it  covers 
all  short-comings  more  thoroughly  and  gracefully 
than  even  Charity  itself.  Painters  don't  suffer  it 
to  die,  nor  do  novelists  allow  its  all-swaying  pow 
ers  to  be  forgotten." 

"Come!"  he  objected.  "Our  most  interesting 
heroines  of  fiction  are  not  beautiful.  Beckie  Sharp 
isn't,  nor  Jane  Eyre,  nor  Marian  Halcome." 

"No,  you  are  right,  Seth,  as  far  as  you  go.  And, 
mind  you,  I'm  not  coveting  beauty,  I'm  merely 
stating  facts.  I  like  facts,  I  have  a  very  sincere 
respect  for  them;  they  may  hurt  sometimes,  but 


38  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

they  help  always.  Of  course,  I'd  a  million  times 
prefer  Beckie  Sharp's  cleverness,  or  Jane  Eyre's 
principles,  or  Marian  Halcome's  resolution  to — 
what  shall  I  say? — the  physical  loveliness  of 
Lydia  Gwilt." 

He  laughed. 

"You  are  not  unlike  Marian  Halcome,"  he  as 
serted  tenderly.  "You  have  her  dark,  clever, 
gypsy  face;  her  tall,  fine  figure — " 

"I'm  too  thin,  much  too  thin,"  she  interrupted. 

"Well,  I  like  thinness." 

"But  that  doesn't  make  it  beauty,  or  in  keeping 
with  dear  Wilkie  Collins's  description  of  Marian 
Halcome's  magnificent  proportions." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  you  have  her  self-reliance 
and  her  intolerance  of  all  pretense.  I  shouldn't 
dare  to  glaze  over  the  truth  in  your  presence." 

"That's  right.  I  like  you  because  you  don't 
dare." 

"I  wish  you'd  do  more  than  like  me,"  he  urged 
with  sudden  desperation.  "Won't  you  try,  Ethel, 
try  real  hard?  You  know  I've  loved  and  admired 
you  ever  since  we  were  school-mates.  You  must 
know  it?  It's  always  been  so  genuine  and  so  frank 
on  my  part!" 

"Yes,"  she  said  sadly.  "I  know  it.  But  it's 
useless  and  distressing  to  talk  of  it,  Seth.  You 
must  know  that — for  I've  been  always  frank  and 
honest  too,  haven't  I?" 

"Yes.     But  I  must  go  on!     It's  a  tremendous 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  39 

cheek  on  my  part  to  press  it,  but  if  you'd  only  be 
come  engaged  to  me,  Ethel,  I'd  wait  any  time, 
make  you  any  concession — all  I  ask  is  permission 
to  try  and  deepen  your  liking  into  love;  and  that 
permission  would  make  my  life  a  veritable  dream 
of  Paradise.  Come!  Give  it  me!" 

"Why,  I'm  two  years  older  than  you,  Seth!" 
she  remonstrated.  "Twenty-seven!  That  is  to 
say,  I  am  ten  years  older  than  you — and  shall  be 
withering  when  you're  in  the  height  of  your 
bloom!  Ugh!  Think  of  it!" 

"Nonsense!  Let  me  see  if  I  can  teach  you  to 
love  me,  Ethel,  in  spite  of  the  cheek  of  the  thing. 
Be  generous!  Come!" 

He  held  out  his  hands  to  her.  She  turned  and 
took  them  with  steady  gentleness  and  sympathy. 

"It  isn't  cheek  at  all,  dear  Seth,"  she  said,  meet 
ing  his  pleading  eyes  with  calm  earnestness;  "but 
it's  generous  folly,  old  friend.  I  simply  could  not 
do  it !  I  was  clearly  not  created  for  that  sort  of 
thing." 

She  withdrew  her  hands  and  held  them  up  for 
his  inspection ;  they  were  large,  broad  and  power 
ful,  for  all  their  feminine  whiteness  and  trimness. 

"Look  at  them!"  she  cried.  "Look  at  my 
hands,  Seth.  They  were  never  meant  for  pretty, 
fiddling  household  duties  and  dainty  embroideries 
in  my  leisure  moments.  Any  more  than  my  big 
masculine  mouth  was  meant  for  kisses  and  to  give 
vent  to  domestic  sentiment  and  social  tittle  tattle. 


4O  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

The  monotonous  routine  of  seeing  you  off  in  the 
morning,  ordering  the  meals,  scolding  the  ser 
vants,  gossiping  to  my  friends,  welcoming  you 
home  again,  and  sitting  meekly  under  your  adoring 
eyes  while  I  coyly  played  with  some  needlework, 
would  quickly  plait  itself  into  a  rope  which  would 
strangle  me.  There  are,  I  believe,  women  spe 
cially  created  for  such  a  necessary  existence — 
pretty,  soft,  clinging  creatures,  who  do  the  part 
well  and  happily.  Seek  one  of  them,  Seth,  and, 
in  this  light,  forget  and  forgive  me." 

"What  were  you  made  for?"  he  asked  sulkily. 

She  looked  at  her  hands  again  and  laughed. 

"I  really  don't  know,  Seth.  For  plenty  of 
physical  and  mental  hardship,  I  think;  I  feel  so 
strong  and  energetic,  and  so  boldly  ready  and 
anxious  to  cope  with  it.  How  I  would  enjoy  a 
fight  that  would  prove  me  of  some  worth,  and  so 
make  life  seem  worth  living.  A  good,  bracing, 
mettlesome  contest.  Ah,  there's  nothing  like  it! 
I  ought  to  have  been  a  man,  Seth;  I  might  have 
gone  out  to  seek  it  then — I  ought  to  have  been  a 
man!" 

"Certainly,  there  is  nothing  weak  or  little  about 
you,"  he  conceded.  "But  then  you're  such  a 
splendid  woman!" 

"No,  Seth,  I'm  a  failure  as  a  woman — a  rank, 
hopeless  failure.  What  should  absorb  me  as  one 
of  the  gentler  sex  can't  even  command  my  honest 
liking."  She  stared  frowning  into  the  street. 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  4! 

"And  yet  you  accomplish  a  woman's  duties  so 
well,"  he  remonstrated.  "I  have  seen  and  studied 
you  as  a  patient  companion  to  a  rather  fretful,  un- 
sympatheic  step-mother,  as  a  tireless  guardian 
and  playmate  to  two  spoiled  and  wilful  half-sisters, 
and  as  a  nurse  and  comforter  in  your  good  fath 
er's  last  illness.  You  left  nothing  to  be  desired, 
Ethel." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  she  quickly  returned,  in  a 
touched,  softened  way,  and  the  brightness  of  her 
fine  dark  eyes  as  she  turned  them  on  him  was 
blurred  as  usual  at  the  reference  to  her  father. 
"Of  course,  I  have  a  certain  amount  of  proper  ad 
miration  and  appreciation  for  a  woman's  duties, 
and  can  cope  with  them  when  they  fall  my  way — 
but  they  don't  satisfy  me.  I'm  disgracefully  con 
ceited  and  ambitious,  Seth,  and  I  want  something 
quite  out  of  the  ordinary  to  struggle  with  and 
master!" 

She  finished  quietly,  but  with  a  strong  underly 
ing  enthusiasm,  which  only  showed  itself  out 
wardly  in  her  gradually  brightening  eyes  and  in 
the  impulsive  touch  of  her  capable  hand  as  she 
laid  it  in  frank  appeal  to  his  understanding  and 
sympathy,  on  his  arm:.  He  took  it  and  kissed  it, 
and  she  drew  it  impatiently  away. 

"Well,"  he  returned  crossly,  "I  suppose  you 
want  me  to  wish  you  all  kinds  of  strange  and  suc 
cessful  adventures,  but  I  shan't!  I'm  delighted," 
he  added  vindictively,  "that  there's  nothing  else 


42  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

for  you  to  do  but  to  put  up  philosophically — with 
this."  And  he  gave  an  affectionate  look  around 
him. 

She  did  not  answer  him,  and  there  was  a  far 
away  look  in  her  averted  eyes. 

"Now,  if  Mr.  Leon  were  alive,"  Seth  pursued, 
"there  would  be  no  room  for  this  restlessness  and 
vague  ambition,  would  there?" 

She  responded  at  once. 

"No,  no!"  she  murmered  hurriedly,  as  if  in 
pain.  "He  needed  me,  and  I  loved  him,  as  I  ever 
shall,  first  and  best!" 

"Needed  you!"  Seth  ejaculated.  "I  should 
rather  think  so!  If  he  had  had  a  hundred  wives, 
a  thousand  daughters,  a  million  servants,  he  would 
have  needed  you." 

"Yes,"  she  assented;  "we  were  thoroughly  at 
tuned  to  each  other." 

"But  Mr.  Leon  has  been  dead  now  over  two 
years,  Ethel,  and  it  is  only  quite  recently  that  you 
have  exhibited  this  fever  of  discontent  with  your 
lot." 

"Ah,  you  don't  know,  Seth,"  she  pathetically 
returned,  "how  long  it  takes  to  throw  off  the  par 
alyzing  shock  of  such  a  blow,  to  realize  that  things 
are  still  running  in  their  accustomed  groove,  and 
the  threads  of  life  waiting  to  be  picked  up  again ! 
We  are  only  beginning  now  to  awaken  to  these 
facts." 

Ethel  said  we,  but  she  might  have  said  /,  with 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  43 

greater  truth  and  less  generosity;  for  the  pretty 
little  buxom  widow  was  already  thinking  of 
throwing  her  Helpless,  clinging  self  at  the  uncon 
scious  head  of  one  of  her  late  husband's  old 
friends,  and  her  daughters  were  completely  ab 
sorbed  in  their  first  taste  of  society,  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  and  adaptability  of  their  twin  seven 
teen  years. 

"Yes,"  Seth  said  softly;  "I  see,  I  understand. 
It  was  a  thoughtless  speech  of  mine.  But, 
although  he  has  gone,  Ethel,  he  has  left  others. 
He  loved  your  step-mother  and  half-sisters  very 
much." 

"Oh,  yes!     Yes,  indeed!" 

"And  I  once  heard  you  say  that  any  one  he 
cared  for  who  claimed  your  consideration  could 
never  be  ignored.  Don't  they  need  it  now?" 

"I  don't  think  so,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  don't 
feel  that  they  have  any  very  deep  affection  for  me, 
and  they  certainly  have  no  sympathy  with  me. 
In  fact,  I  don't  think  they  understand  me  at  all." 

"Perhaps  not.  But  Mrs.  Leon  relies  on  you 
greatly,  and  so  do  Ettie  and  Addie.  They  de 
pend  tremendously  on  your  judgment  and  resolute 
energy,  rather  lacking  these  qualities  themselves — 
if  I'  may  be  rude." 

"Yes,  there  is  something  in  that.  But  a  truce 
to  this  seriousness.  Let's  be  frivolous,  Seth,  by 
way  of  a  healthy  change.  Tell  me  how  my  half- 
sisters  looked  last  night?" 


44  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"Very  pretty,"  he  said  absently.  "They  were 
much  admired." 

"I  was  sure  they  would  be,"  she  continued 
brightly.  "I  can  never  make  up  my  mind  whether 
I  admire  Henrietta's  glowing,  piquante  brunette- 
ness,  or  Adelaide's  classical  fairness,  the  more?" 

"Oh,  Etta's  the  prettier,"  he  carelessly  returned. 

"Perhaps  that's  only  because  you're  such  a 
blonde  yourself." 

"Perhaps  so.     Where  are  they  this  afternoon?" 

"Oh,  they've  gone  boating  on  the  Park  lake 
with  their  favored  swains  of  last  night." 

"And  Mrs.  Leon?" 

"Mother's  not  feeling  very  well  and  has  sent  for 
Dr.  Sartin." 

They  exchanged  an  involuntary  glance  and  then 
broke  into  irrepressible  laughter.  In  Ethel's, 
however,  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  pain. 
Mrs.  Leon  was  a  malade  imaginaire,  with  a  pur 
pose. 

"I  expect  the  Doctor  every  moment,"  Ethel 
continued  more  seriously.  "Ah,  here  he  is !"  as  a 
big  hale-looking  man  of  about  fifty  alighted  from 
a  smart  buggy,  which  had  drawn  up  in  front  of 
the  house. 

As  the  Doctor  mounted  the  high  stoop  his  eye 
caught  Ethel's,  and  he  raised  his  glossy  top  hat  in 
acknowledgment  of  her  smiling  nod.  His  curly 
gray  hair  and  moustache  had  evidently  received 
some  care,  and  he  was  immaculately  dressed  in  the 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  45 

latest  fashion  of  his  professional  garb.  There 
was  altogether  something  spruce  and  jaunty  about 
this  autumnal  Adonis — evidently  Dr.  Sartin  was 
very  young  for  his  years,  or  wished  to  look  so. 

The  maid  who  answered  his  brisk  ring  at  the 
door  conducted  him  at  once  to  his  patient.  But 
the  Doctor  did  not  remain  long  upstairs ;  he  joined 
Ethel  and  Seth  in  the  parlor  with  a  promptitude 
which  would  have  relieved  their  minds  had  they 
felt  any  uneasiness  on  the  score  of  the  interesting 
patient.  The  greeting  between  Ethel  and  the 
Doctor  was  hearty,  that  between  Seth  and  himself 
cool. 

"How  is  mother?"  Ethel  asked,  as  a  matter  of 
form. 

"Oh,  only  a  little  nervous,"  the  Doctor  re 
sponded  with  a  faint  show  of  embarrassment,  as 
he  sat  down  near  her.  "She'll  be  all  right  to 
morrow." 

The  Doctor  had  pleaded  haste  to  Mrs.  Leon, 
but  he  spent  fully  twenty  minutes  chatting  com 
monplaces  to  her  stepdaughter,  while  his  shrewd, 
bright  gray  eyes  studied  her  with  undisguised  in 
terest  and  cordiality.  At  length  he  reluctantly 
departed,  Ethel  accompanying  him  to  the  door. 
She  had  known  him  from  early  childhood,  and 
had  always  liked  and  admired  him.  Ethel  had, 
too,  a  vivid  remembrance  of  his  pretty,  feeble  lit 
tle  wife;  but  the  Doctor  had  now  been  a  widower 
without  incumbrances  for  ten  years.  Returning 


46  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

to  the  parlor,  Ethel  was  greeted  rather  sulkily  by 
Seth. 

"Well,"  he  said,  rising,  "I  suppose  I  ought  to  be 
off  and  leave  you  free  to  nurse  the  invalid!" 

This  brutal  sarcasm  flushed  Ethel's  usually  pale 
face  and  roused  her  spirit. 

"For  shame,  Seth!"  she  cried  indignantly,  and 
then  added  reflectively,  as  though  trying  to  con 
vince  herself,  "You  know  if  there  were  really  noth 
ing  at  all  wrong  with  mother,  I  am  sure  Dr.  Sartin 
wouldn't  obey  her  summons  so  promptly;  he  is 
too  busy  a  man.  I  don't  deny  that  mother  is  in 
clined  to  exaggerate  her  ailments,  but  they  can't 
be  altogether  imaginary." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  Dr.  Sartin's  ready  visits  are 
any  criterion,"  Seth  boldly  responded.  "I  rather 
more  than  fancy  he  doesn't  come  to  see  Mrs. 
Leon." 

"To  see  whom,  then?" 

"You!" 

"Me !"  Ethel  gasped  in  her  amazement.  "You 
must  be  dreaming,  Seth !" 

"Oh,  all  right!"  he  retorted  roughly.  "Only 
a  blind  man  on  a  trotting-horse  could  see  that  he 
won't  be  long  able  to  keep  his  admiration  and  re 
gard  for  you  in  check.  Do  you  mean  to  deny  that 
he  isn't  fond  of  you?" 

"Oh,  no!"  Ethel  said  readily,  and  amusedly. 
"He  was  one  of  father's  oldest  friends,  remember, 
and  has  made  rather  a  pet  of  me  from  babyhood. 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  47 

But  poor,  old,  kindhearted  Doc!  To  make  him 
the  hero  of  a  romance!  Really!"  She  burst  into 
laughter.  "Do  you  think  every  one  as  weak  and 
blind  as  yourself,  Seth?"  And  the  next  instant 
could  have  cut  her  tongue  out  for  its  involuntary, 
thoughtless  cruelty. 

"Good-bye!"  Seth  said  abruptly,  and  left  her 
in  dudgeon. 

But  Ethel  ran  after  him,  and  caught  him  on  the 
threshhold  of  the  front  door. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said  wistfully,  holding  out  her 
hand. 

He  saw  that  she  was  unwilling  to  reopen  a  sub 
ject  which  she  felt  he  would  now  rather  have  left 
alone,  but  that  she  was  nevertheless  dumbly  ap 
pealing  to  his  generosity. 

"Good-bye,"  he  repeated,  giving  her  hand  a  re- 
lentingly  hearty  pressure. 

"We  are  too  old  friends,  aren't  we,  Seth?" 
she  faltered  pleadingly — "to  be  parted  now  by — 
anything!" 

He  looked  at  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  he  heard  the 
quiver  in  her  voice,  and  he  felt  the  clinging  touch 
of  her  hand,  and  he  thought  of  her  natural 
strength  and  self-control.  And  then  his  youthful 
idea  of  throwing  up  his  present  post  as  head-book 
keeper  in  his  father's  big  commercial  house,  and 
making  a  dignified,  effective  retreat  by  seeking  his 
fortune  in  some  far-away  spot,  vanished.  The 
boy  died  in  him  as  he  studied  her,  and  the  man 


48  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

was  born.  She  saw  and  understood  the  meta 
morphosis. 

"Much  too  old,  Ethel!"  he  said  slowly,  a  little 
dazedly.  "Yes,  much  too  old!" 

"That's  right!  And  you  will  come  here  as 
usual?" 

"Yes.     Of— of  course." 

"I'm  so  glad.  I  predict  great  things  for  you, 
Seth,  in  your  father's  business,  and  much  happi 
ness  through  your  host  of  friends  here." 

"Thanks,"  he  said.  "Yes,  I — I  suppose  I  have 
my  share  of  luck." 

"And  I  want  to  have  you  at  hand,  when  the 
big  things  come  your  way,  that  I  may  give  you  a 
comrade's  slap  upon  the  shoulder,  and  say,  'Well 
earned!'  Selfish  of  me,  isn't  it?" 

"No,  it  isn't!"  he  divined  sharply.  "You're 
thinking  of  me,  Ethel." 

"Am  I?"  She  smiled  dreamily.  "Well,  per 
haps  I  am,  Seth;  perhaps  I  am!" 

He  kissed  her  hand,  and  ran  down  the  stoop. 

"That's  the  finest  woman  I  know!"  he  thought 
as  he  scrambled  breathlessly  up  the  steps  to  the 
elevated  station  to  catch  a  rapidly  approaching 
train.  "That  I  shall  ever  know!"  His  thoughts 
continued  as,  the  train  gained,  he  sank  wearily  into 
a  seat.  "Heigho  !  I  wish  I'd  never  met  her !" 

Meanwhile,  Ethel  proceeded  upstairs  to  Mrs. 
Leon's  room.  She  was  always  most  punctilious  in 
her  attentions  to  her  step-mother  and  sisters,  be- 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  49 

cause  her  heart  not  being  deeply  involved  where 
they  were  concerned  she  was  conscientiously  afraid 
of  erring  on  the  other  side." 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  mother?" 
The  invalid  was  lying  on  the  sofa  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed  in  a  rose-hued,  lace-bedecked  dressing, 
gown,  with  a  white  shawl  thrown  lightly  over  her 
feet  and  her  blonde  head  resting  on  a  dainty  white 
silk,  much-frilled  cushion.  The  light  in  the  room 
was  becomingly  softened  by  a  careful  adjustment 
of  the  blinds.  Mrs.  Leon  had  her  forte  as  well 
as  other  people;  she  was  a  specialist  on  all  mat 
ters  pertaining  to  dress,  the  blending  of  colors,  and 
becoming  lights.  In  the  presence  of  the  opposite 
sex  she  never  looked  her  forty  years — her  own  sex 
did  not  interest  her  sufficiently  to  call  forth  any 
exertions;  she  was  naturally  an  indolent  woman, 
and  she  gave  herself  a  holiday  when  the  men  were 
off  the  scene.  Ethel  felt  sure  that  her  stepmother 
had  looked  her  very  best  under  Dr.  Sartin's 
scrutinizing  eyes;  that  it  was  only  after  he  had 
gone  that  her  fluffy  hair  had  been  suffered  to  grow 
disordered,  as  it  now  was,  and  her  delicately  tinted 
face  unbecomingly  flushed.  There  was  now,  too, 
a  restlessness  about  her  feet,  hands,  and  lips  that 
plainly  betokened  rising  temper,  which  Ethel  was 
also  certain  the  Doctor  had  not  seen.  She  an 
swered  Ethel's  question  sharply  in  the  negative, 
and  turned  her  head  away.  She  was  obviously 


50  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

vexed  to  the  point  of  tears,  and  Ethel  sensibly  felt 
that,  for  the  present,  she  was  best  left  to  herself. 
She  therefore  returned  to  the  parlor,  and  interested 
herself  in  a  book. 

Two  hours  passed  pleasantly  away,  and  then 
Ethel  was  roused  to  a  sense  of  the  fleeting  time  by 
a  sharp  ring  at  the  front  door.  The  maid  pres 
ently  appeared  with  a  hand-delivered  note  for 
Miss  Leon.  Ethel  looking  at  the  superscription 
curiously  as  she  lifted  the  note  from  the  tray — 
from  Dr.  Sartin.  "How  strange!"  she  thought — 
"considering  how  recently  he  has  seen  me.  1 
wonder  what  has  happened?  Is  the  messenger 
waiting  for  an  answer?"  she  asked  aloud. 

"Yes,  Miss.     He's  in  the  hall." 

"Very  well.    I'll  give  it  to  him  when  it's  ready." 

The  maid  withdrew,  and,  fearing  she  knew  not 
exactly  what,  Ethel  hastily  tore  open  the  envelope 
and  read  the  letter — read  it  with  rapidly  increas 
ing  astonishment  and  no  little  dismay. 

The  Doctor  began  by  informing  her  that  he  was 
very  much  disappointed  at  not  having  been  able  to 
get  a  private  talk  with  her  that  afternoon,  and, 
with  an  apology  for  that  overmastering  impatience 
characteristic  of  him  when  thwarted,  he  proceeded 
to  write  the  question  he  had  meant  to  ask  her — 
would  she  be  his  wife?  He  added  a  few  protesta 
tions  and  entreaties,  and  closed  by  earnestly  beg 
ging  her  to  relieve  his  suspense  on  the  subject  with 
the  return  of  his  messenger. 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  51 

"Seth  was  right  after  all!"  Ethel  breathlessly 
murmured,  nervously  crushing  the  note  in  her 
hand.  "But  who  would  have  thought  it!  Two 
proposals  in  one  afternoon !  Enough  to  satisfy 
the  vanity  of  the  most  capricious  beauty.  I 
haven't  had  a  proposal  since — since — for  nine 
years !  But  it  never  rains  for  me  unless  it  pours !" 

She  rose,  and  passed  through  the  draped-back 
portiere  into  the  back  parlor,  which  was  furnished 
as  a  library.  Sitting  down  at  once  at  the  pretty 
desk  under  the  window,  she  swiftly  penned  an  ap 
preciative  reply  to  her  old  friend,  but  it  embodied 
an  unqualified  refusal.  Placing  the  Doctor's  note 
in  the  bosom  of  her  dress  until  it  could  be  safely 
destroyed,  she  despatched  the  messenger  with  the 
answer.  She  returned  to  the  back  parlor,  and  sat 
down  once  more  at  the  now  rather  disordered  desk. 
No  doubt,  with  a  dutiful  rememberance  of  her 
step-mother's  irritable  sense  of  order,  and  perhaps 
too  in  some  dread  of  her  equally  irritable  curiosity, 
Ethel's  motive  was  to  tidy  up  the  desk  and  make 
it  look  as  usual ;  but  instead  of  proceeding  at  once 
with  this  important  matter  she  sat  tapping  the 
blotting-pad  with  the  paper-knife  and  musing  the 
precious  moments  of  solitude  idly  away. 

"I  really  wish  I  could  bring  myself  to  marry," 
she  thought.  "Certainly  it  would  simplify  mat 
ters  for  me,  and  relieve  me  and  others  of  a  world 
of  petty  but  none  the  less  demoralizing  trials — in 
an  unquestionably  natural  manner.  But  I  can't; 


52  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

and,  anyway,  neither  Seth  nor  the  Doctor  strikes 
me  in  the  light  of  a  generally  satisfactory  res 
cuer — and  there  is  nobody  else !  So,  whatever  my 
sentiments,  it  seems  I  must  grin  and  bear  my  pres 
ent  lot.  Seth,  or  the  Doctor?  Heigho!  There 
would  be  a  rumpus  in  the  camp !"  And  her  mus 
ing  face  broke  into  a  smile. 

Mrs.  Leon,  of  whose  cat-like  approach  she  was 
unconscious,  joined  her  while  the  smile  was  yet  on 
her  face  and  her  hand  still  engaged  over  the  idle 
tatoo.  Ethel  was  only  aware  of  her  presence 
when  she  was  well  in  the  room,  and,  turning  round, 
her  inquiring  eyes  instantly  informed  her  that  the 
lady  of  the  house  had  descended  in  no  quieter 
frame  of  mind. 

"I  am  glad  you  feel  well  enough  to  get  up, 
mother,"  she  said  politely.  "Can  I  do  anything 
for  you  now?" 

"Who  came  just  now?"  the  elder  lady  asked, 
with  sharp  irrelevance.  "I  heard  the  front  bell 
ring." 

"Only  a  messenger  with  a  note  for  me,"  Ethel 
uneasily  replied. 

"It  required  an  early  answer,  it  seems,"  Mrs. 
Leon  went  on  sneeringly,  as  she  glanced  at  the 
desk. 

"Yes,  it  was  pressing,"  Ethel  reluctantly  ad 
mitted. 

"May  I  ask  from  whom  it  was?" 

Ethel  hesitated  painfully. 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  53 

"Oh,  never  mind  then!"  Mrs.  Leon  irritably 
pursued.  "I'm  only  your  mother,  and  perhaps, 
according  to  your  extraordinary  views  of  life  and 
its  duties,  I  have  no  right  to  express  any  interest  in 
your  affairs.  If  your  poor  father  could  only  see 
how  you  try  me !" 

"The  note  was  from  Dr.  Sartin,"  Ethel  re 
signedly  acknowledged,  flushing  a  little  under  the 
other's  merciless  eyes.  "But  you  should  remem 
ber,  mother,  that  I  have  now  reached  an  age  when 
I  am  capable  of  judging  and  deciding  my  affairs 
for  myself." 

"Oh,  indeed!  I  should  have  thought  that  cer 
tain  concessions  in  that  respect  were  always  due  to 
those  who  stood  in  the  light  of  a  parent  toward 
you.  But  no  doubt  I  am  very  old-fashioned." 

"I  think  you  are  right,  mother,  and  I  also  think 
I  have  made  my  concession  in  telling  you  the  au 
thor  of  the  note." 

"Perhaps  the  Doctor  is  a  little  anxious  about 
me?"  Mrs.  Leon  insinuated. 

"Indeed,  no!"  returned  Ethel  quickly.  "His 
note  is  purely  private." 

"Ah,  I  might  have  known  it!  But  I  should 
have  thought  that  you  and  he  had  talked  together 
quite  long  enough  this  afternoon  to  have  threshed 
all  matters  out.  I  heard  him  join  you,  and  I 
heard  when  he  left.  Indeed,  he  was  so  anxious  to 
get  to  you  that  he  barely  gave  his  patient  his  at- 


54  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

tention.  I  hope  you  feel  repaid  for  your  exer 
tions." 

Mrs.  Leon  was  fast  working  herself  up  into  one 
of  her  frequent  fits  of  passion,  and  this  threatened 
to  be  the  most  alarming  one  that  Ethel  had  been 
favored  with  yet. 

"I  don't  understand  you,  mother,"  she  said. 

"No,  of  course  not!"  the  angry  lady  retorted. 
"Women  of  your  pose  never  do.  They  don't  care 
for  men's  admiration  and  attentions,  not  they! 
They  are  much  too  intellectual  and  independent  to 
stoop  to  cater  for  either.  Yet,  I  notice  that  they 
never  let  either  pass  them,  if  they  can  possibly 
help  it;  they  work  for  both  in  an  underhand  way 
of  which  their  more  unpretentious  sisters  would  be 
ashamed.  How  I  hate  hypocrisy!" 

"Mother,"  Ethel  entreated,  "please  spare  me 
any  more.  I  would  not  willingly  be  rude  to  you, 
but  I  have  a  temper  to  lose  as  well  as  you.  You 
are  doing  me  an  awful  injustice !" 

"Am  I?  You  can't  fool  me  with  the  airs  of  a 
persecuted  heroine.  I'm  not  a  gullible  man,  I'm  a 
sharp  woman,  who  has  studied  you  long  and 
closely.  And  of  course  I  understand  the  Doctor's 
note.  I  remember  now  that  Kate  informed  me 
Seth  was  here  too — no  doubt  all  the  time.  The 
poor  Doctor  couldn't  comfortably  propose  before 
a  third  party,  and  so  the  note,  I  suppose,  contains 
the  vital  question  which  he  was  too  impatient  to 
put  off  till  the  next  interview.  You  should  be 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  55 

more  tactful,  my  dear,  and  not  have  two  on  your 
hands  at  the  same  time.  Well,  are  you  going  to 
marry  the  Doctor — if  I  may  ask?" 

"No!"  said  Ethel,  in  an  ominously  suppressed 
tone. 

"He  has  asked  you,  though?"  the  trembling 
lady  divined,  with  the  double-edged  intuition  of 
jealousy. 

Ethel  was  silent. 

"Ah,  silence  is  such  a  touching  admission! 
Another  scalp  added  to  your  collection,  one  grow 
ing  bald  too ! — so  much  the  more  valuable,  as  it 
typifies  wisdom  and  experience.  I  suppose  you 
think  I  ought  to  congratulate  you,  but,  if  I  may 
presume  to  express  an  opinion,  I  think  it  would 
have  been  more  becoming  to  have  refrained  from 
making  a  fool  of  your  father's  old  friend." 

Ethel  felt  a  hysterical  desire  to  laugh.  She 
turned  away  abruptly,  and  busied  herself  in  setting 
the  desk  to  rights;  but  her  hidden  face  was  quiv 
ering,  her  hands  trembling,  and  the  Doctor's  note 
in  her  bosom  rustled  with  her  quickened  breathing. 

"And  Seth,  too!"  Mrs.  Leon  burst  out,  as  she 
began  to  pace  the  room.  "You  know  that  he  is 
one  of  the  few  eligible  men  we  know,  that  I  am 
anxious  to  get  the  girls  settled  early,  that  Henrietta 
is  fond  of  him  and  he  of  her — yet  you  inveigle 
Seth !  He  is  too  young  for  you ;  but  still  I  could 
forgive  you  if  you'd  only  marry  him — and  so  re 
lieve  us  of  the  irritation  of  your  tricks  and  man- 


56  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

ners.  But  no!  You've  evidently  no  intention  of 
marrying,  you're  simply  bent  on  spoiling  every 
one  else's  chances — you  dog  in  the  manger!" 
And  the  now  thoroughly  over-wrought  lady  broke 
into  a  storm  of  weeping. 

Ethel  gave  the  desk  a  finishing  touch,  and  quietly 
rose. 

"I  think  I  had  better  relieve  you  of  my  presence, 
mother,"  she  said,  with  wonderful  self-control. 

"I  think  you  had!"  Mrs.  Leon  sobbed  passion 
ately,  as  she  threw  her  exhausted  self  into  a  chair. 
"You  have  grown  so  exasperating  lately,  Ethel, — 
so  thoroughly  selfish  and  unkind, — that  I  could 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  wish  that  you  might  relieve 
me  of  it  permanently.  See  to  what  a  pass  you 
have  brought  me,  Ethel, — you  my  dear,  good  hus 
band's  best  loved  child, — and  pray  to  God  for  a 
better  heart!" 

Ethel  opened  her  lips:  her  father  was  very 
present  to  her,  and  the  words,  "I  have  hon 
estly  tried  to  help  you,  mother;  please  don't  mis 
take  me  any  more!  I  sent  Seth  to  the  ball  last 
night  for  Henrietta's  sake — I  might  have  kept  him 
away  by  frankly  telling  him  that  I  was  not  going ; 
and  I  have  prevented  him  from  running  away 
altogether,  also  for  Henrietta's  sake,"  these  words, 
I  say,  struggled  within  her  for  coherent  utterance. 
A  truer  understanding  between  the  two  women 
was  imminent;  for  Ethel's  fine  senses,  aided  by 
that  subtle  consciousness  of  her  father,  were  tell- 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  57 

ing  her  that  all  this  outrageous  tirade  was  but  the 
unreasonable  savagery  of  the  green-eyed  monster, 
who  for  the  moment  reigned  supreme,  and  she  was 
honestly  trying  to  crush  her  rebelling  pride  into  the 
necessary  submission  and  gradually  succeeding — 
when  Mrs.  Leon  swept  the  explanation  from  her 
by  the  following  gasping  remark: 

"Oh,  if  that  silly  boy  had  only  lived!  What  a 
lot  we  would  all  have  been  spared!" 

All  thought  of  her  father  instantly  vanished, 
another  potent  vision  rose  before  Ethel — and 
blotted  out  the  former.  A  pathetically  helpless 
vision  this  time,  which  pleaded  no  toleration, 
which  was  only  outraged  by  that  contemptibly 
shallow  cry.  She  turned  on  her  step-mother  in  a 
fury. 

"You  shall  not  bring  his  name  into  this  disgrace 
ful  discussion!"  she  cried,  and  immediately  left  the 
room. 

In  the  hall  Ethel  met  her  half-sisters,  who  had 
just  parted  from  their  friends.  It  was  her  cus 
tom  to  try  and  set  a  good  example  by  always 
greeting  them  pleasantly,  and  now,  even  in  her 
distress  of  mind,  she  mechanically  paused,  and 
asked  them  how  they  had  enjoyed  themselves. 

"Awfully!"  answered  Addie  brightly.  "I  wish 
you  had  been  with  us — it  was  glorious  on  the  lake, 
and  would  have  done  you  good." 

Addie  was  in  high  good  spirits.  Dickie  Leigh 
had  surpassed  himself  as  an  escort,  had  almost 


58  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

reached  the  ideal  point  of  proposing.  Etta  did 
not  speak,  and  her  mien  was  sullen. 

"Are  you  tired,  Etta?"  Ethel  asked  kindly. 

"No."  After  that  ungraciously  brief  reply, 
Etta,  letting  her  jealous  suspicions  master  her, 
inquired  palpably  against  her  will,  "Has  Seth  been 
here  this  afternoon?" 

"Yes,"  Ethel  shrinkingly  returned,  as  she  put 
out  a  hand  to  help  Etta  off  with  her  jacket,  which 
the  girl  was  roughly  unfastening. 

But  Etta  pushed  her  sister  irritably  back,  and 
with  an  uncontrollable  gasp  ran  upstairs  to  hide 
the  angry  tears  which  had  sprung  into  her  eyes  and 
threatened  to  overflow. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  Ethel  turned  dully 
to  Addie  for  an  explanation,  as  she  muttered  the 
question. 

"Oh,  she  asked  Seth  to  join  us  this  afternoon 
with  Daisy  Lowe;  but  he  said  he  was  sorry  he 
couldn't  as  he  had  an  engagement.  If  Etta  can't 
enjoy  Seth's  escort,  you  know,  she  still  likes  to 
have  him  under  her  eye.  She  was  awfully  disap 
pointed,  and  suspicious,  too,  that  he  was  merely 
making  up  an  excuse.  It's  upset  her,  I  suppose,  to 
find  out  that  she's  right.  He  had  no  engagement 
with  you,  had  he?" 

"No." 

"It's  so  silly  of  Etta!  I  wish  she'd  get  over 
this  nonsense.  I  declare  she's  beginning  to  peak 
and  pine.  How's  mommer?" 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.  ETHEL  LEON  59 

"Better,  I  think.  She's  come  downstairs;  but, 
unfortunately,  we've  had  a  few  words,  and  she's 
thoroughly  put  out  just  now.  Go  and  see  if  you 
can  do  anything  for  her,  Ad,  while  I  see  what  I 
can  do  with  Etta." 

Adelaide  looked  for  the  first  time  searchingly 
into  her  sister's  tired  face,  incited  thereto  by  the 
tired  tone  in  which  the  appeal  had  been  made. 

"In  the  wars  as  usual,  Ethel!"  she  smiled. 
"First  Mommer,  and  now  Etta.  I  wish  you  could 
avoid  it;  and  you  do,  too,  I  believe — you  look  so 
wearied !  Come !  You're  clever — why  don't  you 
think  the  situation  out  and  teach  yourself  to  walk 
round  the  pitfalls?" 

"I'm  going  to  try." 

"That's  right.  Don't  look  so  miserable. 
There!"  she  leaned  forward  and  gave  Ethel  a 
careless  kiss. 

It  was  but  the  light  impulse  of  an  idle,  happy, 
cheery  moment;  but,  in  her  then  frame  of  mind, 
that  kiss  touched  Ethel  to  the  heart's  core  and 
made  a  lasting  impresion  on  her.  It  somehow  set 
Adelaide  apart  from  and  before  her  mother  and 
sister,  a  distinction  Ethel  had  not  until  now  ac 
corded  her.  The  girl's  face,  too,  though  exactly 
like  her  mother's  in  coloring,  was  in  feature  like 
her  handsome  father's;  and  this  likeness  now 
overshadowed  the  other  in  Ethel's  eyes.  This  was 
purely  her  father's  child.  She  put  her  arms 
round  Addie  and  kissed  her  warmly;  then  pushing 


60  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

her  toward  the  parlor,  Ethel  followed  Etta  up 
stairs. 

Ethel's  hand  was  on  the  door  of  her  sister's 
room,  when  the  dull  sound  of  sobbing  smote  her, 
and  she  shrank  back.  A  young  girl's  first  love 
affair  may  be  utterly  mistaken,  may  be  utterly 
foolish,  may  be,  and  often  is,  out  of  all  reason; 
but  it  is  never  light,  nor  is  it  ever  quite  harmless  in 
its  passing.  The  theme  was  a  bow  across  the 
most  delicately  sensitive  cord  that  life  had  woven 
for  Ethel  and  under  the  guiding  vibration  of  that 
cord  she  softly  retreated  to  her  own  room.  There 
a  sudden  inspiration  came  upon  her.  She  walked 
dizzily  to  the  bureau,  and,  sinking  into  the  chair 
before  it,  sought  to  relieve  her  throbbing  head  by 
letting  down  the  sleek  masses  of  her  raven  hair 
Plunging  her  hands  into  it  as  it  fell  about  her,  she 
studied  her  startled  face  in  the  mirror. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured  to  her  reflection.  "Right 
in  one  instance,  Seth  was  wrong  in  another — they 
don't  need  me  at  all!  They  would  rejoice  to  be 
rid  of  me — yes,  rejoice !  A  clear  field  is  all  they 
want — a  clear  field  would  more  than  compensate 
them  for  any  loss.  They  have  shown  me  that 
beyond  all  doubt.  Well,  why  should  I  stay? 
Why  shouldn't  I  go  ? — and  make  all  happy !  Go  ? 
To  do  what?  Ah,  that's  a  question  to  be  thought 
out  afterward.  I  needn't  starve  while  I'm  think 
ing,  for  there's  my  independent  little  income  from 
my  own  dear  mother.  And  whatever  I  do — or 


EVOLUTION  OF  DR.   ETHEL  LEON  6 1 

fail  to  do — I'll  be  spending  my  time  better — than 
this !". 

And  the  living  face  looked  indomitably  at  the 
reflected  one,  which  faithfully  looked  indomitably 
back. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   SILLY  BOY 

The  silly  boy  had  been  the  only  child  of  the 
late  Reginald  Leon's  lawyer  and  life-long  friend, 
Henry  Law.  Mrs.  Henry  Law  had  been  a  lady 
of  prepossessing  appearance  and  fascinating  man 
ners,  afflicted  unfortunately  with  an  inordinate 
passion  for  society.  As,  in  her  own  right,  she  pos 
sessed  neither  wealth  nor  influence,  she  eagerly  ac 
cepted  the  proposal  of  the  rich  and  prominent  law 
yer,  purely  as  a  means  of  gratifying  her  tastes. 
The  birth  of  her  child,  therefore,  gave  her  no 
pleasure.  She  looked  on  the  helpless  mite  as  a 
most  trying  nuisance — a  nuisance,  however,  to  be 
comfortably  avoided  presently  by  consigning  him 
entirely  to  his  nurse.  As  time  went  on  and  the 
boy  began  to  run  about  and  chatter,  his  mother, 
living  for  and  by  appearances,  might  have  been  in 
duced  to  feel  some  pride  in  him  and  to  take  some 
notice  of  him  had  he  only  promised  to  add  in  any 
way  to  the  picture.  But  Baby  Reg  grew  up  hope 
lessly  plain,  was  backward,  weakly,  and  fretful. 
There  was  no  possibility  of  his  exciting  either  ad 
miration  or  interest,  so  his  mama  continued  philo 
sophically  to  ignore  him. 

Henry  Law  had  been  won  by  his  wife's  beauty 


THE  SILLY  BOY  63 

and  wit,  but  he  was  naturally  a  man  of  deep  affec 
tions  and  domesticated  tastes,  and  when  he  dis 
covered  that,  in  his  universally  admired  wife,  these 
sterling  qualities  were  conspicuous  only  by  their 
absence,  he  was  deeply  pained  and  dismayed. 
For  a  time  he  earnestly  tried  to  cultivate  them  in 
her,  but  soon  realizing  his  task  to  be  hopeless,  and 
shrinking  from  the  friction  his  efforts  occasioned, 
he  resigned  himself  patiently  to  let  her  go  her  way 
undisturbed,  and  devoted  himself  entirely  to  his 
neglected  son.  The  boy  never  grew  strong  or  in 
dependent  enough  to  rough  it  at  school,  and  was 
educated  fitfully  at  home  by  a  succession  of  tutors. 
I  say  fitfully,  because  he  was  often  ill  for  weeks  at 
a  time,  when  studies  had  to  be  totally  abandoned. 
Naturally  of  a  feeble  constitution,  he  seemed  to  be 
specially  unfortunate  in  contracting  in  quick  suc 
cession  all  the  diseases  that  childhood  is  heir  to; 
and  as  he  only  just  pulled  through  these  illnesses, 
they  left  him  a  very  frail,  helpless  boy,  morbidly 
sensitive  and  retiring,  with  a  quaint,  dreamy  turn 
of  mind.  He  was  not  a  satisfactory  pupil  when 
he  could  apply,  for  he  learnt  very  slowly  and  for 
got  what  he  had  learnt  with  surprising  rapidity; 
on  the  other  hand,  he  sometimes  astonished  his 
master  when  the  subject  happened  to  pierce  his 
torpid  interest,  but  these  occasions  were  fleeting 
and  rare.  By  gathering  about  him  the  children  of 
his  own  cronies  his  father  tried  to  give  the  boy  a 
little  wholesomely  rousing  companionship ;  but  the 


64  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

result  was  a  complete  failure.  Little  Reggie 
shrank  from  the  boys,  and  they  from  him,  with 
an  instinctive  sense  that  here  there  could  be  no 
common  interests  or  sympathy;  and  he  was  irri 
tably  intolerant  of  the  palpable  condescension  of 
the  girls.  About  this  time  his  godfather,  Regi 
nald  Leon,  removed  his  family  from  the  suburbs 
and  became  a  close  neighbor  of  the  Laws.  This 
brought  about  a  most  surprising  result.  Little 
Ethel  Leon,  so  hardy,  active  and  independent,  and 
poor  ailing,  dependent,  sedentary  Reggie  became 
the  firmest  of  friends.  Ethel  was  three  years 
Reggie's  junior,  but  as  she  had  always  been  made 
a  sensible  companion  of  by  her  clever  father  she 
was  thoughtful  and  discreet  far  beyond  her  years. 
She  was  an  exceptionally  observant,  warm-harted 
child,  and  she  no  sooner  saw  the  state  of  affairs  at 
the  Laws  than  she  set  herself  to  win  over  the  lonely, 
suffering  boy  and  brighten  him  up.  Her  advances 
showed  wonderful  tact,  and  her  success  was  quick 
and  supreme,  Reggie,  conscious  of  genuine  in 
terest  and  sympathy  in  a  contemporary  at  last, 
poured  out  upon  her  the  affectionate  comradeship 
which,  under  more  normal  conditions,  would  have 
been  divided  amongst  many;  the  strength  of  the 
girl  and  the  weakness  of  the  boy  fed  and  thrived 
upon  each  other,  and  from  their  early  teens  their 
interest  and  pleasure  in  life  became  centered  in 
each  other.  On  her  side  it  was  a  fiercely  protect- 


THE  SILLY  BOY  65 

ing  love,  on  his  a  humble,  adoring  one.  And  the 
fond  fathers  looked  on  in  tender  amusement. 

As  Reggie  approached  manhood  he  wasted 
away  more  and  more  rapidly;  but  his  spirits  rose 
with  his  steady  decline,  and  he  talked  hopefully  of 
the  future.  He  and  Ethel  celebrated  his  twenty- 
first  birthday  by  solemnly  becoming  engaged  to 
each  other.  That  he  was  going  to  make  an  early 
and  gentle  exit  from  the  world  all,  save  himself 
and  Ethel,  now  realized;  and  Mr.  Leon  mus 
tered  up  his  courage  and  gave  Ethel  a  gentle 
warning.  But  she  repudiated  it  hotly: 

"People  who  are  going  to  die  don't  talk  as  Reg 
talks,  they  seem  to  know  it — remember  mama  and 
grandma !  Why,  Reg  talked  all  yesterday  of  our 
future  home,  and  planned  out  everything.  He 
couldn't  have  bothered  with  it  if  he  were  dying. 
But  you  are  all  enough  to  drive  him  into  his  grave 
with  your  gloomy  prophecies — and  me  too!" 
And  her  tears  gushed  forth. 

Her  father  soothed  her  as  well  as  he  could,  but 
he  persisted  nevertheless  with  what  he  felt  to  be 
his  duty. 

"I — I  am  afraid,  my  child,  his  optimism  is  only 
a  feature  of  his  disease." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  she  sobbed.  "And,  any 
way,  suppose  you  are  right,  what  difference  would 
that  make  in  our  position  to  each  other?  Do  you 
think  I  would  draw  back?  If  he  is  to  die,  he 
shall  die  as  happy  as  I  can  make  him!" 

5 


66  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"There,  there,  daughter!  I  only  wished  to 
break  the  force  of  the  shock  if  possible,  and  to 
entreat  you  to  hold  yourself  in  check  Come! 
Dry  your  tears.  I  must  go." 

But  Ethel  clung  to  her  father  and  strugled  to 
extort  from  him  a  word  of  hope — struggled  in 
vain,  for  Mr.  Leon  crushed  down  his  sympathy 
and  manfully  withheld  it.  And  this  was  all  the 
opposition  the  parents  on  either  side  had  the  heart 
to  make  to  that  pathetic  engagement.  But  they 
extorted  from  the  principals  a  promise  that  the 
engagement  should  not  progress  further,  on  the 
ground  that,  as  yet,  they  were  rather  too  young. 
Reggie  bestirred  himself,  however,  and  earned  the 
money  for  the  ring,  which  was  to  be  proudly  worn 
by  and  by — earned  it  by  carrying  off  the  prize  in 
a  competition  offered  by  a  certain  paper  for  an 
article  on  a  subject  he  was  interested  in.  And, 
even  when  he  took  to  his  bed,  he  continued  to  talk 
brightly  of  their  future  home — it  was  only  just 
before  the  end  that,  rousing  suddenly  from  a  stu 
por,  he  turned  to  Ethel  and  gasped  surprisedly: 

"Ethel  *  *  *  *  do  you  know?  *  * 
*  I  believe  I'm  not  going  *  *  to  reach 

that  home  *  *  *  *  after  all!" 

Thus,  at  eighteen,  Ethel  became  a  sorrowfully 
chastened  woman — all  that  remained  to  her  of  that 
youthfully  heedless  and  impassioned  love-dream 
was  a  copy  of  the  prize  article  and  a  simple  half- 
hoop  of  pearls. 


THE  SILLY  BOY  67 

As  the  years  passed  on  and  she  ceased  to  sorrow 
for  him,  Ethel  often  looked  back  on  the  episode  of 
Reggie  with  wonder;  for  it  had  happened  early, 
it  was  the  reckless  impulse  of  two  utterly  undisci 
plined  hearts,  and  she  no  longer  grieved  over  the 
outcome — and  yet  that  brief  engagament,  to  the 
astonishment  of  all,  remained  this  much  to  her: 
she  never  fell  in  love  again,  and  she  never  ceased 
to  fight  any  reflection  on  Reggie's  memory  as  vin- 
dicatively  as  she  had  fought  his  battles  in  their 
long-ago  childhood  days.  Perhaps  her  nature 
was  too  strong  to  give  and  take  anything  lightly, 
and  having  loved  and  been  loved  thoroughly  that 
part  of  her  temperament  was  exhausted;  and  no 
doubt,  in  dying  as  he  did,  Reggie  had  made  the 
theme  more  sacred  to  himself  than  a  life  of  devo 
tion  might  have  accomplished.  Thus  it  was  that 
Mrs.  Leon's  freful,  unfeeling  cry  of  regret  that 
the  "silly  boy"  had  not  lived  struck  home  and 
drove  Ethel  to  her  room  before  her  explanation 
and  appeal  had  been  made — a  concession  on  her 
part  which,  in  all  human  probability,  would  have 
proved  the  death-warrant  of  this  strange  Record. 

Ethel  began  to  think  out  the  new  future  circum 
stances  had  opened  to  her,  as  she  at  length  wearily 
rose  and  began  to  dress  for  dinner.  Her  magnifi 
cent  hair  was  always  well-dressed,  and  she  now  put 
it  up  with  special  care.  She  would  be  a  nurse,  she 
decided,  as  she  gave  it  the  finishing  touches.  In 
what  other  capacity  could  she  find  a  wider  sphere 


68  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

of  healthful  and  vicariously  useful  industry. 
None!  And  medical  matters  had  always  called 
forth  her  keenest  interest.  But  if  she  would  do 
her  best  by  it  she  must  set  about  this  care-free  of  all 
family  worries;  and  Ethel  desired  to  undertake 
nothing  half-heartedly.  Yes,  she  must  enter  on 
her  course  of  study  where  she  would  be  quite  out 
of  touch  with  all  relatives  and  friends  with  claims 
on  her  society  and  the  right  to  interfere  with  her. 
She  realized  the  full  importance  of  this,  and  the 
thought  of  a  gloriously  unsupervised  freedom  of 
thought  and  action  thrilled  her  pleasurably.  Her 
own  mother  had  been  a  Miss  Cain,  the  present 
Mrs.  Leon  a  Miss  Arton,  and  the  Leons,  Cains, 
and  Artons  were  scattered  profusely  over  the 
I  Northern  States,  and  each  family  had  a  wide  circle 
of  friends.  Therefore,  Ethel  decided  that  she 
would  retreat  to  the  sunny  South. 

'  'Away  down  South  in  Dixie,'  "  she  hummed 
happily,  as  she  turned  away  from  the  mirror  and 
proceeded  to  select  and  substitute  a  more  dainty 
costume  for  the  trim  waist  and  skirt  she  was  wear 
ing.  Although  she  could  scarcely  be  accused  of 
vanity,  Ethel  was  fastidious  about  her  clothes,  and 
they  always  suited  and  fitted  her  to  a  nicety.  If 
her  feet  were  not  small,  their  garniture  was  always 
of  the  neatest  possible  description,  and  the  same 
might  be  said  of  her  hands.  She  now  put  on  a 
maize-colored  silk  gown,  which  admirably  set  off 
the  sheen  of  her  hair  and  the  velvety  darkness  of 


THE  SILLY  BOY  69 

her  eyes.  The  fashion  of  the  dress  left  her 
throat  a  little  exposed,  and  round  it  she  placed  a 
simple  band  of  black  velvet.  She  had  a  masculine 
contempt  for  jewelry,  and  wore  none,  save  a 
simply  chased  gold  ring  on  her  right  hand, — a 
present  from  her  father, — above  which  was  Reg 
gie's  half-hoop  of  pearls. 

"How  tired  I  feel,  and  how  ghastly  I  look!" 
she  said  to  her  faithful  mirror.  She  walked  to 
the  stationary  washstand,  and  sponging  her  face 
with  cold  water,  rubbed  it  vigorously.  When  she 
rejoined  her  step-mother  and  sisters  in  the  back 
parlor  she  looked  as  usual,  a  stately,  well-groomed 
woman,  who  claimed  your  interest  the  moment  she 
spoke  to  you. 

"And  now  calmly  to  face  the  music,  and  throw 
oil  on  the  troubled  waters,"  she  thought,  as  she 
looked  at  the  three  women.  "Rally  round  me, 
you — all  my  forces  1" 

But  there  was  an  ominous  quietude  about  Ethel 
this  evening,  of  which  she  herself  was  unconscious, 
but  which  instantly  impressed  the  others.  It  some 
how  awed  the  tempers  of  Mrs.  Leon  and  Etta  into 
submission, and  vaguely  distressed  Addie.  When 
Ethel  bent  her  proud  head  to  her  step-mother  and 
said  : 

"I'm  sorry  I  lost  my  temper  just  now,  mother, 
I  hope  you'll  overlook  it!" 

The  latter,  forgetting  the  additional  recrimina- 


70  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

tions  she  had  been  conjuring  up  for  the  culprit's 
further  benefit,  merely  stammered: 

"All  right,  Ethel — I'm  sorry  I  thoughtlessly 
excited  you."  And  abruptly  changed  the  subject. 

Ethel  then  sat  down  by  Etta, and  took  her  hand; 
and,  to  her  surprise,  was  not  repulsed.  Finding 
the  domestic  matters  thus  quiescent,  Ethel  breathed 
a  sigh  of  satisfaction  and  gratitude  for  this  unex 
pected  boon,  and  took  courage.  Henrietta's  soft 
round  cheek  was  pale,  and  her  naturally  laughing 
brown  eyes  solemn  and  heavy;  her  lips,  too,  met 
in  a  straight,  pallid  line,  though  ordinarily  they 
were  ruby,  dimpled  and  smiling.  The  child's  face 
plainly  showed  the  storm  she  had  passed  through, 
and  Ethel's  big  heart  ached  over  her.  And  as  if 
in  defiance  of  her  sense  of  desolation,  Etta  had 
donned  a  new  frock,  and  had  disposed  of  her 
dusky  curls  even  more  coquettishly  than  ever. 
Ethel  called  back  into  the  downcast  baby  face  its 
customary  wild-rose  hue  by  touching  it  caressingly 
with  her  lips. 

"This  dress  is  sweet,  Ettie,"  she  said  brightly 
to  the  vain  little  soul,  as  she  toyed  with  the  lace 
and  ribbon  about  the  pretty  throat,  "and  it  suits 
you  to  perfection.  Blue  is  certainly  your  color. 
Seth  was  telling  me  this  afternoon  how  much  you 
and  Ad  were  admired  last  night,  but  he  gave  the 
palm  to  you.  That  white  silk  with  pink  rose 
buds  and  your  glowing  duskiness  was  a  famous 
scheme  of  coloring  certainly — quite  one  of  moth- 


THE  SILLY  BOY  71 

er's  chef-d'oeuvres.  I  should  have  liked  to  have 
heard  more  of  the  ball  from  Seth,  but  he  wasn't 
here  very  long.  He  returned  a  book  I  had  lent 
him.  Saturday  afternoon  is  usually  a  socially  busy 
one  for  young  business  men ;  I  suppose  he  had  an 
engagement.  Seth  has  such  a  lot  of  friends,  you 
know,  and  they  must  be  satisfied  to  take  their  turn. 

Etta  was  brightening  rapidly. 

"Yes,  I  know  he  had  an  engagement,"  she  as 
serted  proudly,  now  quite  reassured.  "Otherwise, 
I  am  sure — I — I  think  he  would  have  gone  with 
us  on  the  lake." 

"Undoubtedly.  He  is  very  fond  of  you  and 
Ad,  and,  I  know,  always  enjoys  an  outing  with 
you." 

Dinner  was  now  announced  by  the  maid  rolling 
back  the  folding-doors  which  shut  off  the  dining- 
room  from  the  back  parlor.  Ethel  drew  Etta's 
arm  through  hers,  as  they  rose  and  followed  Mrs. 
Leon  and  Addie  into  the  dining-room,  and  she 
felt  the  girl's  fingers  tremble  and  cling  round  hers. 
But  in  spite  of  Ethel's  unquestionable  triumphs  in 
the  library,  the  dinner  passed  off  uncomfortably. 
All  were  uneasily  conscious  of  a  subtle  restraint 
toward  each  other,  and  showed  it  plainly.  Happy 
Addie  gallantly  threw  herself  into  the  breach  and 
talked  and  joked  her  best,  and  Ethel  caught  the 
ball  with  unfailing  energy  and  tact.  But  their 
efforts  were  artificial,  and  waned  under  the  frank 
depression  of  the  other  two.  When  they  reas- 


72  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

sembled  in  the  back  parlor  Mrs.  Leon  and  her 
daughters  fell  back  on  their  favorite  occupation 
of  fancy  work,  and  Ethel,  as  usual,  took  up  a 
book. 

Ethel  was  a  great  novel  reader,  and  Dickens 
was  her  favorite  novelist;  but  now  she  fluttered 
the  leaves  of  her  favorite  Martin  Chuzzlewil  ab 
sently,  and,  so  distrait  was  her  mind  that  she  read 
the  chapter  relating  to  Sairy  Camp's  famous  tea- 
party  without  a  smile — even  Betsy  Prig's  inimit 
able  'I  don't  believe  there's  no  sich  person!'  failed 
to  rouse  her.  Most  of  her  friends  regarded  her 
partiality  for  this  book,  which  spared  neither  her 
country  nor  her  countrymen,  as  unaccountable; 
but  Ethel's  mind  was  sufficiently  well-balanced 
not  to  shrink  from  just  criticism,  she  even  had  a 
weakness  for  it  when  it  was  wittily  put.  But  the 
question  now  absorbing  all  her  faculties  was  this : 
Should  she  speak  out  her  mind  to  her  step-mother 
and  sisters,  or  should  she  simply  take  French  leave 
of  them?  The  more  she  dwelt  on  the  matter  the 
more  she  inclined  toward  the  latter  alternative. 
True,  the  first  was  the  more  fitting  and  the  more 
brave;  but  Ethel  writhed  at  the  thought  of  the 
scenes  her  experience  told  her  would  inevitably  fol 
low  its  adoption.  These  three  women  before  her 
were  all  more  or  less  selfish  and  shallow ;  they  cer 
tainly  wished  to  be  free  of  her — but  comfortably! 
Like  the  rest  of  mankind,  they  had  their  redeem 
ing  points,  and  Ethel  knew  they  would  not  be 


THE  SILLY  BOY  73 

without  conscientious  scruples  against  letting  the 
idolized  daughter  of  a  much-loved  husband  and 
father  quit  the  luxurious  home  which  had  always 
sheltered  her,  to  fight  the  rough  world  alone. 
Yes,  there  would  be  their  conscientious  scruples 
Mr.  Leon's  memory  would  excite  to  battle  with, 
and  their  remorse — for  they  were  not  utterly 
heartless — at  having  pressed  her  to  the  step  to 
combat. 

Ethel  clearly  foresaw  the  unreasonable,  tire 
some  arguments,  and  distressing,  hysterical  plead 
ings  she  would  call  down  upon  her  head  by  pur 
suing  the  more  proper  course  of  verbally  giving 
them  her  full  confidences.  On  the  other  hand, 
by  taking  the  second  cowardly  alternative,  she 
would  neatly  avoid  all  that  mutually  enervating 
and  irritating  friction :  there  would  be  a  sharp 
shock  at  first;  and,  although  they  might  reproach 
themselves,  they  would  be  powerless  to  do  any 
thing — their  nerve  force  would  be  thus  far  spared. 
And  then,  as  soon  as  they  knew  that  she  was  set 
tled  and  quite  well  and  happy,  which  she  must 
contrive  to  let  them  know  indirectly,  they  would 
find  pleasant  diversion  in  the  extra  scope  her  ab 
sence  would  afford  them  in  their  favorite  field  of 
labor.  Long  before  Ethel  had  finished  the  chap 
ter  she  had  decided  to  stand  or  fall  by  the  second 
alternative. 

Well,  what  was  the  next  question  to  be  settled? 
Her  exact  destination  of  course.  "Away  Down 


74  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

South"  in  Dixie  sounded  very  romantic,  but  it  was 
also  very  vague.  What  and  where  were  the  most 
prominent  Southern  hospitals?  The  moment  she 
asked  herself  this  question,  certain  conversations 
held  at  her  father's  house  between  his  numerous 
medical  friends — conversations  to  which  she  had 
always  been  an  interested  listener — recurred  to 
her.  In  spite  of  his  success  in  business,  it  had  been 
the  disappointment  of  her  father's  life  that  he 
had  not  studied  medicine,  and  he  was  never  tired 
of  discussing  that  science.  And  now,  from  these 
conversations,  the  names  and  respective  location 
of  two  Southern  hospitals  sprang  out  clearly,  and 
she  distinctly  remembered  how  highly  they  had 
been  spoken  of — The  Johns  Hopkins  Hospital, 
Baltimore,  and  the  Charity  Hospital,  New  Or- 
A  leans!  New  Orleans  was  farthest  away,  there 
was  something  piquante  and  alluring  in  its  foreign 
elements — she  recalled  with  satisfaction  that  she 
was  a  good  French  scholar;  and  the  climate  of 
New  Orleans  had  a  special  attraction  to  one  who 
revelled  in  heat  and  sunshine.  New  Orleans  it 
should  be. 

What  next? 

Well,  she  must  have  a  safe  confidant  through 
whom  to  receive  tidings  of  her  people  and  through 
whom  to  let  them  know  that  all  was  well  with 
her.  Who  should  it  be  ?  Her  choice  was  quickly 
made — Henry  Law.  To  him  alone  she  would 
confide  the  secret  of  her  destination,  and  trust  him 


THE  SILLY  BOY  75 

faithfully  to  protect  her  from  all  unwelcome  vis 
itors. 

Was  there  anything  more  ?  Her  mother's  little 
fortune?  Well,  that  was  simple  enough.  Ac 
cording  to  her  mother's  will  it  had  passed  abso 
lutely  into  her  hands  on  her  attaining  the  age  of 
twenty-one,  and  her  father  had  taught  her  how  to 
deal  with  it. 

Now  that  all  these  necessary  points  were  de 
cided,  and  the  first  step  toward  the  realization  of 
her  desire  lay  plainly  before  her,  namely  privately 
to  see  Henry  Law  on  Monday, — he  always  spent 
Sunday  out  of  town, — Ethel  again  breathed  a  sigh 
of  satisfaction,  and  dismissed  the  subject,  for  the 
present,  from  her  mind. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  MEDIATOR 

Henry  Law  was  now  a  silver-haired  man  with 
a  pale,  care-worn  face  and  a  student's  stoop  about 
his  tall,  spare  figure.  He  looked  as  dry  as  dust 
and  as  solemn  as  an  owl ;  yet  the  man  had  a  keen 
sense  of  humor,  and  his  conversation  was,  from 
choice,  always  as  frivolous  in  tone  as  the  circum 
stances  would  permit — the  funny  side  always 
striking  him  most  forcibly.  Many  a  client  had 
been  startled  at  seeing  those  hopelessly  gloomy- 
looking  brown  eyes  subtly  brighten,  and  those 
prim,  clean-shaven  lips  quiver  into  humorous 
curves,  while  from  the  slow,  monotonous  voice  fell 
witty  comments  on  the  case.  Yet  his  attention 
never  strayed  from  the  facts,  his  grasp  of  them 
never  relaxed,  his  reasoning  was  none  the  less 
sound  on  that  account,  and  his  judgment  was  con 
sidered  one  of  the  best  in  Brooklyn. 

He  received  his  clerk's  announcement  of  Ethel 
on  Monday  morning  with  surprise ;  it  was  the  first 
visit  she  had  paid  to  his  office,  and  it  looked  om 
inously  business-like.  As  he  happened  by  good 
fortune  to.  be  disengaged,  she  was  admitted  at 
once  into  his  private  sanctum.  He  greeted  her  as 
usual  by  touching  her  forehead  with  his  lips,  and 
placed  a  chair  for  her. 


THE  MEDIATOR  77 

"This  is  an  unusual  and  an  unexpected  honor, 
Ethel,"  he  said,  as  he  resumed  his  place  before  his 
desk,  "and  looks  serious.  Now,  don't  be  shy — 
what  have  you  done?" 

Ethel  laughed  at  the  question,  and  proceeded 
briefly  to  unfold  her  plans  and  to  ask  her  favor 
of  him.  He  was  startled,  and  showed  it. 

"So  you  want  to  cut  and  run  on  the  sly,  eh?" 
he  queried  with  mock  severity  after  a  pause.  "I 
like  your  audacity  in  coming  with  such  a  tale  to 
such  a  severely  proper  person  as  myself!  How 
dare  you  do  it,  Ethel?  You  remind  me  of  my 
school-days,  and  make  me  tingle  all  over — just  as  I 
did  the  morning  after  I  tried  it,  and  was  collared 
and  sent  back  to  school."  And  he  gave  his  should 
ers  a  comic  shake. 

"Oh,  I'm  going  one  better  than  you  did,"  she 
retorted. 

"Are  you,  indeed.     Fie,  fie!" 

"Well,  Mr.  Law?" 

"Well,"  he  returned  reflectively,  pursing  up  his 
mouth  and  tapping  the  desk  with  his  ruler.  "Now, 
I  suppose,  Ethel,  that  captious  step-mother  of 
yours  and  those  jealous  little  cats  your  half-sisters 
are  responsible  for  this.  You've  been  having  a 
row — a  regular  domestic  dust.  It's  been  gradually 
gathering  for  some  time,  of  course,  but  I  thought 
you  too  capable  and  tactful  ever  to  let  it  come  to 
a  head.  You've  disappointed  me." 

"Now,  Mr.  Law,  I'm  going  to  do  this  simply 


78  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

because  I  want  to — desperately  want  to!  That's 
all." 

"Did  your  heart  run  away  with  your  judg 
ment,"  he  proceeded,  with  a  mischievous  twinkle 
in  his  eyes,  "and  did  you  warn  some  innocent  fly 
from  the  pretty  little  parlor?  Or  did  you  set  up 
a  stronger  counter-attraction  ?  For  shame,  Ethel ! 
/  always  credited  you  with  the  possession  of  that 
most  universally  appreciated  art — the  art  of  mind 
ing  your  own  business." 

"I  certainly  flatter  myself  I  possess  it.  But 
aren't  we  straying  from  the  point?" 

"That  a  client  should  remind  me  of  it!  It's 
worse  than  the  cart  before  the  horse,  it's  the  child 
before  the  veteran.  Well,  Ethel,  you're  a  sensible 
woman,  and  there's  no  rope  round  you — you're 
absolutely  free,  of  course,  to  do  as  you  like.  But 
it's  a  big  undertaking,  what  you  propose  to  do, 
and  I  only  hope  you've  thought  it  out  fully  from 
all  points  of  view.  Have  you,  do  you  think?" 

"Yes,  I'm  sure  I  have." 

"May  I  ask  when  you  came  to  this  decision?" 

"On  Saturday.  But  it's  been  in  my  mind — oh, 
a  long,  long  time." 

"Won't  you  give  it  a  little  more  time?  Con 
sider  it  a  little  longer?" 

"Not  a  minute  more  than  I  can  help,"  she  re 
torted  firmly.  "I  feel  I  have  wasted  far  too  much 
precious  time  already.  I've  already  considered 


THE  MEDIATOR  79 

the  matter  carefully,  and  I  am  now  quite  resolved 
on  the  venture — surely  that's  enough?" 

"Well,  Ethel,  you've,  chosen  a  noble  profession 
and  one  I  honestly  believe  that  you  are  admirably 
fitted  for.  A  quick,  level  head,  a  calm,  gentle 
temperament,  and  a  fine  constitution  are  yours. 
You'll  make  a  tip-top  nurse." 

"I  hope  so." 

"A  nurse?"  pursued  the  lawyer  slowly  study 
ing  her  with  a  meditative  critical  eye — "I  believe, 
Ethel,  you'd  make  a  tip-top  lady-doctqr!" 

"Well,  I  may  eventually  get  there,"  she  re 
turned,  with  a  smile.  "But  it's  a  stiff  thing  for 
women,  and  nursing  is  a  good  probationary  course 
to  it,  isn't  it?" 

"Couldn't  be  better.  And  I've  a  prophetic  feel 
ing  it  will  end  in  Ethel  Leon,  M.  D." 

"Well,  will  you  good-naturedly  be  my  go-be 
tween,  Mr.  Law?" 

"You  are  quite  sure  you  are  irrevocably  decided 
then?" 

"Quite.  Must  I  seek  another  accomplice,  or 
will  you  condescend  to  the  role?" 

"With  pleasure,  I'll  condescend.  There's 
nothing  I  shall  enjoy  more  than  heading  off  the 
domestic  onslaught  from  you;  for  I'm  morally 
certain  they've  exasperated  you  into  this — you 
hedged  the  question,  you  know.  And  although 
I  think  you  have  decided  on  a  splendid  field  of 
action,  for  which  you  are  quite  fitted,  I  don't  like 


80  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

to  think  of  your  roughing  it  at  all.  Never  fear, 
they  shall  find  me  adamant  when  their  pigmy  con 
sciences  send  them  here.  They  remind  me  of 
birds,  Eth,  those  three  women — very  pretty, 
graceful  birds  to  admire  from  a  distance,  but  too 
much  sharp  beak  and  claws  to  be  coveted  at  close 
quarters." 

Ethel  smilingly  shook  her  head, — she  knew  it 
was  useless  to  remonstrate  with  her  staunch  old 
friend,  who  always  said  and  did  what  he  pleased, 
— and  she  delicately  turned  the  topic  by  thanking 
him  warmly  for  his  ready  help. 

"They  will  worry  you  dreadfully,"  she  added, 
with  a  tardily  remorseful  thought  of  all  her  re 
quest  was  entailing.  "Are  you  sure  you  don't 
mind?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Ah!  You  are  good! — good!  The  best  friend 
I  have.  I'll  never  forget  all  I  owe  you." 

"Now,  Ethel,  I'm  not  immortal,  old  girl,  re 
member!  Who  shall  we  appoint  in  my  stead  in 
case  I  drop  before  you  are  ready  to  reveal  your 
self  to  your  people?  My  partner,  Mr.  Barrie, 
eh?  He's  staunch  and  unsentimental  enough. 
We  must  cover  this  contingency,  you  know." 

"Yes,  let  it  be  Mr.  Barrie,  if  we  must  be  dis 
mal." 

"It  is  often  a  lawyer's  duty  to  be  so.  Mr.  Bar 
rie  is  my  executor,  too !  Well,  I'll  leave  a  private 
note  for  him  in  case  of  my  sudden  demise." 


THE  MEDIATOR  8  I 

"Ah,  what  trouble  I  am  giving  you !" 

"There,  there!"  he  said.  "You  know  I'm  al 
ways  happy  to  be  of  any  service  to  you.  But  I 
say,  Ethel,  what  will  your  step-mother  say  when 
she  sees  your  trunks  come  bumping  downstairs? 
Have  you  a  plausible  whopper  ready?" 

Ethel  laughed  merrily. 

"You  know  mother  and  the  girls  always  treat 
themselves  to  a  matinee  every  Wednesday  after 
noon,"  she  said  as  soon  as  she  had  sobered  down. 
"I  shall  not  accompany  them  next  Wednesday, 
and  shall  arrange  for  the  expressman  to  abstract 
my  belongings  then,  and  get  away  myself,  after 
leaving  notes  for  them." 

"You'll  have  a  headache,  I  suppose,"  he  sug 
gested.  "You  with  a  headache,  Eth !  Oh,  I 
don't  like  this  business  at  all — it's — it's  awfully 
demoralizing!" 

"No,  I  won't  have  a  headache,"  she  smiled; 
"I'll  simply  emulate  George  Washington  and  say 
I  don't  feel  inclined  to  go." 

"But,  your  trunks?  You  must  be  careful  about 
giving  clues — they  will  probe  all  possible  sources 
for  information.  The  servants  may  notice  the 
titles  of  your  expressman.  Come,  let's  hear  how 
you  propose  to  circumvent  this  obstacle?" 

"I  shall  express  in  the  first  instance  only  as  far 
as  the  baggags  office  of  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad 
station;  I  shall  be  at  the  station  at  the  same  time 


82  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

as,  or  immediately  after  the  arrival  of  my  traps, 
leaving  the  house,  as  I  shall,  at  the  same  time. 
From  there,  of  course,  I  despatch  them  straight 
to  New  Orleans.  So  if  Katie  is  observant  enough 
to  be  able  to  identify  my  expressman  they  won't 
get  anything  of  moment  out  of  him." 

"Good.  But  where  are  you  going  to  stay  in 
New  Orleans  while  you  are  making  arrangements 
with  the  hospital?"  he  asked  anxiously.  "You 
can't  stay  anywhere,  you  know." 

"No,  of  course  not.     I've  considered  that." 

"Perhaps  you  intended  to  ask  me  to  advise  you. 
Well,  personally,  I  don't  know  of  any  quiet,  re 
spectable  boarding-houses  there — such  as  you 
would  desire;  but  I  can  easily  find  out  for  you. 
You  mustn't  expect  to  get  off  in  a  rush." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Law.  But,  by  a  lucky 
chance,  I  know  of  a  suitable  place.  You  remem 
ber  my  traveling-friend,  Mrs.  Chance,  who  has 
gone  to  live  in  Europe?  Yes?  Well,  she  stayed 
some  time  in  New  Orleans  before  coming  on  here 
to  sail;  and  as  she  has  a  delightful  way  of  ad 
vertising  the  merits  of  those  who  serve  her  well, 
she  insisted  on  leaving  me  the  card  of  the  quiet, 
respectable,  and  most  comfortable  boarding-house 
where  she  stayed  in  New  Orleans — in  case,  as  she 
put  it,  I,  or  any  of  my  friends,  should  ever  desire 
such  a  place.  I  put  the  card  in  my  desk,  carelessly 
enough  at  the  time,  and  I  remembered  and  looked 
for  it  with  feverish  eagerness  yesterday.  I  found 


THE  MEDIATOR  83 

it  all  right.  They  say  put  away  an  unwanted  thing 
carefully,  and  it  will,  in  time,  prove  its  gratitude 
for  your  generosity  by  turning  up  trumps  at  a 
crisis.  There's  a  proverb,  I  believe,  to  support 
the  saying,  but  I've  forgotten  it — still,  I've  proved 
its  truth  anyway" 

"Well,"  he  smiled,  "Mrs.  Chance  is  a  sensible, 
well-balanced  woman  of  the  world — I  suppose 
it's  all  right.  Have  you  wired  them?" 

"Yes,  this  morning.  And  I  told  thejn  to  an 
swer  me  here,  care  of  you.  It  was  cheek  I  know, 
but  I  couldn't  risk  mother  or  the  girls  getting  to 
know  of  the  telegram  and  questioning  me  about 
it." 

"You  take  my  breath  away  with  your  coolness, 
Eth !  You  haven't  even  given  me  a  chance  for  de 
fence.  You've  heartlessly  made  me  your  accom 
plice  while  I  was  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  whole 
audacious  plot!" 

"Well,  I  knew  you  would  help  me — and  I 
wasn't  mistaken,  was  I?" 

"Suppose  Mrs.  Chance's  friend  can't  take  you 
in,  Ethel?" 

"Well,  I've  asked  her  then  to  recommend  some 
place." 

"I  like  that.  It  shows  me  that  you  can  think 
of  contingencies,  and  provide  for  them.  You  can 
take  care  of  yourself,  Eth." 

"I  hope  so.  I  should  be  a  sad  case  if  I  couldn't 
at  27  years  of  age." 


84  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"And  how  much  are  you  going  to  tell  Mrs. 
Leon  and  the  girls  in  your  farewell  notes?" 

"Not  much.  I  shall  just  tell  them  that  I've  de 
cided  to  go  off  and  feel  my  wings  a  bit — only  I'll 
put  it  with  more  sentiment  of  course.  I  won't  tell 
them  anything  about  the  nursing  yet  I  think;  it 
might  help  them  to  trace  me,  and  I  don't  want  to 
be  interfered  with  until  the  thing  is  done.  I'll  tell 
them  not  to  worry  themselves,  or  you,  or  me — 
and  to  communicate  with  me  (as  I  shall  with 
them)  through  you." 

"Humph!  Pretty  sound.  And  now  we  must 
talk  about  your  money." 

"Yes,"  returned  Ethel.  "I  should  like  to  dis 
cuss  that  subject  with  you."  And  an  animated 
discussion  ensued. 

Ethel's  mother  had  left  her  $40,000  invested  in 
United  States  coupon  bonds.  The  trustees  were 
Mr.  Leon  and  Henry  Law,  the  former  having  the 
custody  of  the  securities.  According  to  her  moth 
er's  will,  the  principal  was  to  be  paid  to  Ethel  un 
conditionally  on  her  attaining  the  age  of  twenty- 
one,  or,  if  she  married  before  this,  it  was  to  be 
settled  on  herself  and  her  children;  the  interest 
pending  either  of  these  events  was  to  be  used,  of 
course,  at  the  discretion  of  the  trustees,  for  her 
maintenance,  pleasure,  and  education.  The  in 
vestment  had  never  been  varied,  and  the  securities 
were  kept  at  the  Brooklyn  Safe  Deposit  Company. 
They  had  been  formally  handed  over  to  Ethel 


THE  MEDIATOR  85 

by  the  trustees  on  her  attaining  the  dignity  of 
twenty-one  years  of  age.  They  brought  Ethel  a 
secure  and  amply  sufficient  income  of  $1,000  a 
year,  paid  half  yearly,  and  it  was  simply  to  detach 
the  coupons  at  their  due  date  and  deposit  them  as 
cash  in  her  bank. 

The  bonds,  by  reason  of  their  "gilt-edged"  se 
curity,  were,  too,  readily  convertible  into  cash  at 
any  time  in  any  city  here  or  abroad.  It  will  there 
fore  be  readily  seen  that  Ethel's  facilities  for  deal 
ing  with  her  capital  and  interest  were  simplicity 
itself,  and  needed  no  help  from  any  one.  But  she 
was  very  glad  to  discuss  with  her  experienced  old 
friend  the  best  means  of  transferring  her  principal 
to  New  Orleans.  As  she  had  a  fair  amount  of 
cash  on  hand,  she  was  fully  prepared  to  meet  the 
expenses  which  would  be  entailed  by  her  contem 
plated  change ;  and  it  was  decided  that  the  bonds 
should  be  sent  to  her,  half  at  once  and  half  a  few 
days  later,  as  an  extra  precaution,  though  the  Na 
tional  Express  Company,  insured  for  a  sum  large 
enough  to  secure  extra  vigilance — although,  with 
pride  let  it  be  said,  that  parcels  in  the  hands  of 
United  States  express  companies  are  as  safe  as 
human  foresight  and  care  can  make  them. 

This  point  settled,  Ethel  asked  how  soon  she 
might  reasonably  expect  an  answer  to  her  tele 
gram. 

"If  the  wires  are  propitious,  Eth,  in  a  couple 
of  hours  or  less." 


86  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

The  clerk  here  intruded  to  announce  a  client, 
and  Ethel  rose. 

"I  sent  the  telegram  about  an  hour  ago,"  she 
said.  "I'll  look  in  again  in  an  hour's  time." 

"All  right.  But  you  can  wait  here  if  you  like, 
there's  another  room  where  you  can  be  quite  pri 
vate." 

"No,  thanks.  I've  some  shopping  to  do,  and  it 
will  pass  the  time  quickly  for  me." 

She  nodded  and  smiled,  and  passed  out. 

When,  after  rather  more  than  an  hour's  ab 
sence,  Ethel  returned  to  the  office,  Mr.  Law  was 
still  engaged,  and  she  was  shown  into  an  unoccu 
pied  front  room  to  await  his  leisure.  The  hum 
and  rattle  of  the  busy  street  drove  her  from  the 
window,  for  she  was  beginning  to  feel  the  strain 
of  unusual  excitement  and  restlessness.  She  sank 
into  a  comfortable  chair  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
and  idly  studied  a  flaring  calendar  on  the  portion 
of  the  wall  opposite  her  formed  by  the  projection 
of  the  mantelpiece.  From  marveling  over  the 
taste  which  had  robed  the  chubby,  red-faced  milk 
maid  in  a  scarlet  frock,  a  bright  blue  apron,  and 
a  lilac  sun-bonnet,  and  made  her  bovine  companion 
a  mottled  creature  of  misty  rain-bowed  hues, 
Ethel's  eyes  wandered  for  relief  to  the  small  white 
square  where  sable  letters  and  figures  set  forth 
the  month  and  date. 

"I    wonder   what    I    shall   be    doing   this    day 


THE  MEDIATOR  87 

month,"  she  thought,  and  immediately  lost  herself 
in  a  soothing  haze  of  pleasant  conjecture. 

Mr.  Law  at  length  joined  her.  He  held  the 
fateful  telegram  in  his  hand,  and  handed  it  to  her 
silently.  Ethel's  eyes  flashed  and  her  face  flushed 
eagerly  as  she  took  it  gratefully  from  him  and 
tore  it  open.  On  scanning  the  few  lines,  she  mur 
mured  : 

"Thank  goodness,  there's  no  need  for  further 
delay!" 

"So  eager  to  be  off,  Eth?"  he  asked,  rather 
sadly. 

"Yes,  so  eager!"  she  returned,  placing  the  tele 
gram  in  his  hands. 

"Well,"  he  observed,  after  reading  it,  "so  that's 
all  right — Mrs.  Rice  can  take  you  in.  I'm  very 
glad." 

"So  am  I." 

"I  should  think  so !  You  look  it.  And  as  reso 
lute  and  self-confident  as  a  seasoned  warrior! 
With  your  nerve  and  energy  you  ought  to  make 
that  sound  brain  of  yours  accomplish  wonders, 
Eth.  A  nurse  indeed !  I  am  more  sure  than  ever 
that  you  ought  to  be  a  doctor!" 

"We  agreed  that  nursing  is  a  good  initial  step," 
she  smiled. 

"No  doubt  of  it.  So  nothing  now  remains 
but—" 

"To  say  good-by,"  she  finished,  as  he  paused. 
And  as  she  uttered  the  words  the  eager  light  in 


88  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

her  eyes,  the  eager  flush  on  her  face  faded,  and 
she  grew  pale  and  sad. 

He  came  close  to  her,  and  laid  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders. 

"Ethel,"  he  said,  gazing  earnestly  into  her  up 
turned,  attentive  face,  "I  hope  you  will  not  fail 
to  consult  me  in  all  doubts  and  difficulties.  I  trust 
you  to  do  so — or  I  could  not  let  you  go  your  own 
way  so  easily.  Remember  you  command  my  ser 
vices,  and  you  always  must  command  them  while 
I  live,  in  a  threefold  sense — first,  in  your  own 
right,  as  a  woman  who  has  won  and  held  my  af 
fection  and  esteem  for  many  long  years ;  secondly, 
as  the  cherished  daughter  of  my  staunch  old  com 
rade,  Reginald  Leon,  who  now  appeals  to  me  more 
strongly  than  ever  from  the  silent  land  of  shad 
ows;  and  thirdly,  as  the  woman  my  poor  dead 
boy  would  have  gladly  called  his  wife.  You  will 
never  forget  this,  will  you?  No?  That's  right! 
You  will  write  to  me  often,  and  keep  me  fully 
posted  on  all  that  concerns  you?  You  promise? 
That's  well.  There!  Don't  cry,  old  girl.  God 
bless  and  guard  you." 

They  kissed  each  other  solemnly,  lingeringly,  as 
though  all  the  secrets  of  the  future  lay  mercilessly 
bare  to  their  shrinking  eyes  and  they  knew  it  to 
be  for  the  last  time,  and  Ethel  passed  swiftly  out. 

Henry  Law  lingered  on  in  the  room,  staring 
stupidly  through  the  window.  The  hideous,  dark 
ening  structure  of  the  elevated  railroad  cast  its 


THE  MEDIATOR  89 

blight  over  the  prospect,  and  trains  boomed  and 
rattled  and  hissed  their  way  along  it,  calling  forth 
a  sympathetic  tremble  and  hum  from  the  windows, 
without  awakening  the  busy  lawyer  to  any  sense 
of  the  precious  fleeting  moments.  His  clerk,  after 
vainly  knocking,  opened  the  door  and  informed 
his  master  of  the  advent  of  a  fresh  client. 

"I  hope  I've  done  right,  Pinner!"  was  the  un 
intelligible  response.  "I  hope  to  God  that  I've 
acted  for  the  best!"  Then,  as  they  stared  at  each 
other  blankly,  the  lawyer  added,  with  the  old  in 
eradicable  twinkle  of  the  eye  and  quiver  of  the 
lip,  "But  I  don't  see  that  I  had  any  choice,  Pin 
ner!  What  the  devil  else  could  I  have  done?" 

"Mr.  Gilder  says  he's  in  the  devil  of  a  hurry, 
sir,"  the  puzzled  clerk  ventured. 

"Did  he?     So  was  Ethel.     Come  along." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  CAP  WHICH  FITTED  MANY 

It  was  a  conscience-stricken  trio  that  assembled 
in  Mrs.  Leon's  room  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so 
after  the  return  from  the  matinee — that  is  to  say, 
after  these  ladies  had  repaired  to  their  respective 
rooms  to  put  away  their  out-door  adornments,  and, 
incidentally,  to  read  wonderingly  the  note  which 
Ethel  had  pinned  on  each  pin-cushion.  They  met 
on  the  threshold  of  Mrs.  Leon's  room,  each  with 
a  note  in  her  hand,  and  stared  at  each  other  in 
white  dismay.  There  was  no  need  to  make  any 
disclosures:  they  met  fully  posted.  They  turned 
into  the  room,  after  that  first  awful,  silent  inspec 
tion  of  each  other,  and  faced  about  once  more. 
Mrs.  Leon  managed  to  speak  first. 

"What's  to  be  done,  girls?"  she  asked  help 
lessly.  "This  is  terrible !" 

"See  Mr.  Law  at  once!"  Addle  cried.  "Ethel 
says  we  are  to  hear  of  her  through  him.  She  also 
commands  us  not  to  worry  him;  but  I'll  worry 
him!  /'//  worry  his  existence  out  of  him  but  he 
shall  tell  me  where  Ethel  is!" 

"But  Ethel  says  she  has  bound  him  to  secrecy," 
Mrs.  Leon  whimpered,  "and  you  don't  know  what 
these  lawyers  are!  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear!  What 
shall  we  do?  It  is  most  heartless  of  Ethel." 


CAP  WHICH  FITTED  MANY  91 

"Cruel!"  Etta  added. 

Adelaide  favored  her  mother  and  sister  with  a 
steady,  contemptuous  stare,  under  which  their  pale 
faces  turned  crimson. 

"But  we  may  get  something  out  of  Mr.  Law," 
Etta  urged  hurriedly,  "and  the  sooner  the  better. 
We  can't  let  Ethel  go." 

"No,  of  course  not!"  the  others  chimed  in. 

Mrs.  Leon  turned  away  to  get  out  her  bonnet 
and  wrap  again,  wavered  and  fell  weakly  into  a 
chair. 

"I'm  trembling  all  over,"  she  moaned.  "I 
simply  can't  go  to  him.  Telephone  him,  Addie, 
please  to  come  here  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Yes,  that  would  be  better,"  Addie  reflected, 
"for  it's  nearly  time  for  him  to  leave  his  office." 

She  ran  down  to  call  him  up,  and  quickly  re 
turned  with  the  information  that  he  would  come 
up  after  dinner,  that  he  was  coming  anyway. 

Dinner  passed  off  drearily  enough.  Mrs.  Leon 
was  querulous  with  Katie,  otherwise  a  heavy  si 
lence  reigned.  The  mistress  felt  an  unreasonable 
anger  against  the  girl  for  not  having  managed 
somehow  to  prevent  Ethel's  departure.  She  ques 
tioned  her  mercilessly  on  the  subject.  All  Katie 
could  tell  her  was  that  Miss  Ethel  had  warned 
her,  immediately  after  the  others  had  started  for 
the  theater  that  the  expressman  was  coming  for 
her  trunks,  which  were  all  ready  packed  in  the 
box-room.  Had  Katie  noticed  the  name  of  the 


92  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

express  company?  Yes,  and  she  gave  it.  But  this 
man,  appealed  to  the  next  morning,  could  only  say 
that  he  had  been  commissioned  to  take  these  par 
ticular  trunks  to  the  baggage  office  of  the  Jersey 
Station,  so  this  hope  of  a  clue  to  Ethel's  destina 
tion  was  soon  crushed.  Continuing,  Katie  said 
that  she  had  ventured  to  express  her  surprise  at  the 
sudden  departure  while  all  the  rest  of  the  family 
were  out,  and  Miss  Ethel  had  smilingly  assured 
her  that  it  was  "all  right."  She  had  asked  Miss 
Ethel  if  she  would  be  away  long,  and  she  an 
swered,  "Yes,  some  time."  Miss  Ethel  had  made 
the  cook  and  herself  a  present  and  bade  them  a 
cordial  good-by.  "Did  Mrs.  Leon  not  know  of 
Miss  Ethel's  intentions?"  the  puzzled  Katie  asked, 
scenting  a  romance.  Too  late,  Mrs.  Leon  tried 
to  save  her  dignity,  "Of  course!  What  are  you 
thinking  of?  I  only  wanted  to  know  how  Miss 
Ethel  got  off." 

But  Katie  was  not  to  be  deceived.  When  her 
duties  in  the  dining-room  were  over,  she  joined 
her  fellow-servant  in  the  kitchen  with  glee,  and 
while  she  rubbed  the  silver  with  unusual  vigor, 
the  spicy  gossip  proving  an  extraordinary  fillip  to 
her  energy,  she  entertained  the  cook  with  the  news 
that  Miss  Ethel  had  really  run  away;  that  the 
Missus  knew  nothing  of  it,  though  she  was  trying 
to  throw  sand  in  their  eyes. 

"Shure,  I'm  sorry!"  Katie  sighed.  "It's  our 
selves  will  be  missing  her,  with  her  swate  ways." 


CAP  WHICH  FITTED  MANY  93 

"Yes,"  the  cook  agreed.  "Give  me  Miss  Ethel 
afore  them  all.  Maybe  she'll  come  back,  bless 
her!" 

Katie  dropped  a  tear. 

"I  don't  believe  she  will,"  she  faltered.  "Not 
soon,  at  any  rate.  She's  taken  all  her  things.  But 
she'll  get  on,  Lord  bless  her!  wherever  she  goes. 
She's  a  way  with  her  as  makes  it  a  pleasure  to  do 
what  she  asks." 

"Hasn't  she  now!"  the  cook  responded  with 
animation.  "Lord!  if  the  poor  Master  could 
know!  I  hope  the  Missus  ain't  been  rowing  her; 
she's  mortal  hard  to  please  at  times." 

And  they  lapsed  into  speculation  as  to  the  cause 
of  this  unexpected  and  regretted  defection,  a  dis 
course  which  was  interrupted  by  a  ring  at  the 
front  door,  and  resumed  with  animation  on  Katie's 
return. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Law  was  having  a  hard  time 
of  it  upstairs,  and  acquitting  himself  wonderfully 
well.  They  tried  him  with  entreaties,  threats,  pas 
sion,  and  tears !  He  was  sympathetic,  he  was  very 
gentle,  very  patient,  but  he  was  not  amenable.  He 
waited  until  they  had  thoroughly  convinced  them 
selves  of  this,  and  then  quietly  took  his  leave, 
earnestly  recommending  them  to  resign  themselves 
as  quickly  as  possible  to  the  position — that  it  was 
not  to  be  stormed,  or  subtly  undermined;  it  was 
impregnable.  The  exhausted  women  then  betook 
themselves  to  their  rooms  and  to  bed. 


94  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

Soon  after  midnight  Etta  was  roughly  roused 
out  of  an  uneasy  slumber.  She  sat  up  in  alarm; 
and,  by  the  feeble,  unsteady  light  of  an  intrusive 
candle,  beheld  her  sister,  disheveled,  tear-marred, 
and  in  hastily  assumed  dressing-gown. 

"Oh,  Etta!"  Addie  cried,  with  another  re 
morseless  shake.  "How  can  you  sleep  like  that, 
you  selfish,  careless  thing !  I  haven't  been  able  to 
lose  myself  for  a  moment,  and  I've  been  so 
wretched!  I've  thought,  and  thought,  and 
thought,  how  we  could  win  poor  Ethel  back,  and 
the  only  way  that  seems  to  me  to  offer  any  hope 
is  this — you  must  be  a  man  I" 

Henrietta  stared  at  her  sister  in  comic  dismay. 

"I  can't!"  she  snapped  irritably,  and  sinking 
back  cosily  on  her  warm  pillows.  "Don't  be 
idiotic!  I'm  sure  you  might  leave  me  alone, 
Addie,  when  I'm  in  peace.  I've  worried  enough, 
Heaven  knows;  and  then,  when  I've  not  long 
dozed  off,  you  wake  me  as  if  the  house  was  burn 
ing  down — to  tell  me  I  must  be  a  man !  You 
must  be  mad — you  look  like  Ophelia.  Go  back 
to  bed." 

"You  must  act  like  a  man!"  Addie  persisted 
resolutely.  "If  you  close  your  eyes,  I'll  pinch 
you.  I  mean,  of  course,  about  Seth." 

"I  hate  him !"  Etta  spluttered  viciously,  now 
dismissing  all  thought  of  sleep  and  sitting  up  with 
energy.  "The  whole  world  is  welcome  to  him  if 


CAP  WHICH  FITTED  MANY  95 

it  wants  him.  I'd  like  to  see  him  divided  up  into 
little  pieces!" 

"That's  right.  That's  what  I  wanted  to  hear," 
responded  Addie,  with  equal  blood-thirstiness. 
"Now,  you  must  tell  him  that,  Etta,  after  you've 
told  him  that  you've  made  an  ass  of  yourself  about 
him  before  Ethel,  and  she's  gone  away,  like  the 
unselfish,  self-sacrificing  thing  she  is,  to  leave  the 
field  clear  for  you." 

"O,  I  say!"  ejaculated  Etta,  not  unnaturally 
appalled. 

"That's  what  you  must  do,"  proceeded  Addie 
relentlessly.  ''That's  what  I  meant  by  being  a 
man.  You  must  send  Seth  to  find  her;  and  he'll 
bring  her  back,  when  she  knows  you've  sickened 
of  him,  because,  I'm  sure,  she's  fond  of  him !" 

"But  how  on  earth  is  he  to  find  her?"  queried 
Etta  nervously. 

"Trust  him.  He  loves  her."  Etta  winced  at 
this  brutality.  "Once  let  him  know  that  she's 
only  run  away  on  your  account,  and  he'll  track  her 
down  soon  enough." 

"But  the  time — his  business?" 

"Pshaw !  Isn't  he  with  his  wealthy  old  father, 
who  would  be  glad  enough  to  see  Ethel  his  wife? 
He  can  easily  arrange  for  his  absence." 

"If  you  feel  so  strongly  about  this,"  Etta  ob 
served  petulantly,  "why  don't  you  do  it  yourself? 
It's  the  meanest  thing  I  ever  heard  of  to  make  me 
do  it!" 


96  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"Come!  Don't  be  an  It!  Don't  you  see  I 
can't  convince  him  as  you  can?  I'd  come  to  him 
at  a  suspicious  disadvantage,  wouldn't  I? — peach 
ing  on  a  sister!" 

"But  however  shall  I  manage  it?"  poor  little 
Etta  asked  shiveringly.  "I  can't!  It's  impossible! 
On  the  face  of  it,  it's  impossible." 

"Ethel  managed  a  harder  thing  for  you,"  the 
dauntless  Addie  pursued.  "Are  you  going  to  let 
her  drift  away  from  us  when  you  can  bring  her 
back?  How  do  you  suppose  you're  going  to  feel 
about  it  afterward?" 

"Perhaps  she's  gone  on  Dr.  Sartin's  account, 
and  it's  Mommer's  business,"  Etta  maliciously 
suggested. 

"Little  coward!"  Addie  cried  scornfully.  "That 
old  fossil !  Mommer's  blind,  or  she  couldn't  have 
worried  over  that." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  Etta?  Come!  Think  of  all  we  owe 
Ethel — think  of  dear  old  Pop." 

There  was  an  anxious,  painful  silence,  during 
which  the  sisters  stared  at  each  other. 

"I'll  do  it!"  Etta  gasped  at  last,  suddenly  in 
spired.  "I'll  act  the  man,  although  I  can't  be  one. 
And,  Addie,  you're  not  an  idiot,  dear,  you're  a  fine 
little  woman." 

"Bless  you,  Sis!"  I  knew  there  was  real  grit  in 
you.  To-morrow?" 

"Yes,  to-morrow." 


CAP  WHICH  FITTED  MANY  97 

And  with  a  warm  embrace  the  twins  parted. 

The  next  evening  Seth,  summoned  by  telephone 
to  a  private  interview  with  Etta  on  a  matter  of 
the  gravest  importance,  presented  himself  wonder- 
ingly  and  not  a  little  apprehensively.  The  door 
of  communication  between  the  front  and  back  par 
lor  was  drawn  together,  and  this  looked  ominous 
as  well  as  unusual  to  Seth,  when  the  maid  ushered 
him  into  the  former  room.  Behind  that  ominous- 
looking  door  General  Adelaide  mounted  guard 
over  the  inquisitive  but  cowed  mother,  and  was 
ready  to  tackle  any  other  visitors  who  might 
chance  to  call  inopportunely.  Etta  awaited  Seth  in 
the  farthest  corner  of  the  long  room,  and,  after 
greeting  him  gravely,  asked  him  to  sit  down,  in 
dicating  a  chair  close  by,  facing  her.  He  obeyed 
her,  looking  as  he  felt,  thoroughly  puzzled.  What 
had  become  o^  Etta's  familiar  rosy  coloring,  gay 
smiles,  and  coquettish  manner?  The  child  was 
taken  completely  out  of  herself.  This  pale,  se 
rious  little  woman,  without  a  trace  of  self-con 
sciousness,  was  a  stranger  to  him,  an  interesting 
stranger. 

"Whatever  has  happened,  Ettie?"  he  asked 
alarmedly,  compassionately. 

In  a  subdued  way  she  at  once  told  him  of  Ethel's 
abrupt  departure,  repeated  the  gist  of  the  farewell 
notes,  and  gave  him  a  graphic  description  of  their 
unsuccessful  contest  with  Mr.  Law.  Seth  was 


98  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

stunned:  he  couldn't  speak;  he  couldn't  move; 
he  couldn't  think.  Ethel  gone !  out  of  his  sight, 
out  of  his  life !  His  white,  shocked  face  and  de 
spairing  gaze  said  this  to  Etta,  nothing  more.  She 
felt  a  reflection  of  the  pang  which  ran  through 
him,  and  pityingly  withdrew  her  eyes. 

"We  have  been  very,  very  unhappy  over  it," 
she  faltered  on,  "as  you  can  understand.  We're 
all  downright  sick  with  anxiety.  Of  course,  we 
mean  to  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  find  Ethel, 
and  induce  her  to  come  back;  but  it's  going  to  be 
hard  work — hard  work  to  find  her,  and  harder 
work,  I  expect,  to  make  her  come  home  again. 
Ethel,  once  her  mind  is  made  up,  is  very  unyield 
ing — as  unyielding  as  that  hardened  old  sinner 
Henry  Law!" 

Seth  partially  regained  the  use  of  his  tongue, 
but  it  moved  stiffly. 

"They  are  two — rocks!"   he  said,  with   rising 
indignation.     "It's — it's  atrocious  of  them.     I— 
I  don't  see  that  you  can  do  anything.     You're — 
you're  perfectly  helpless." 

The  missing  color  came  back  to  Etta's  face  too 
generously:  she  turned  crimson.  Seth  did  not 
notice  it:  his  eyes  were  on  the  carpet,  and  his 
thoughts  far  away.  She  recalled  both  to  herself 
with  lightning-like  rapidity. 

"No,  I  don't  think  we  are  perfectly  helpless," 
she  said  swiftly,  fearing  her  courage  would  desert 
her  if  she  hesitated  a  moment.  "I  think  we  can 


CAP  WHICH  FITTED  MANY  99 

do  something  to  bring  Ethel  back — but,  oh,  it  is 
hard,  horrid!" 

"What  can  you  mean,  Etta?" 

Had  Etta  and  Addie  been  less  young  inexpe 
rienced,  and  impulsive,  they  could  not,  between 
them,  have  accomplished  this  fateful  interview: 
a  thousand  considerations  outside  the  principal 
one  would  have  held  them  in  check.  But,  as  it 
was,  they  could  only  see  it  from  one  point  of 
view,  and  Etta  now  followed  up  Addie's  lead  with 
desperate  heedlessness. 

"I  mean,"  she  said  stoutly,  but  with  a  burning 
face  and  brilliant,  frightened  eyes,  "that  I  believe 
Ethel  has  gone  away  on  your  and  my  account,  and 
that  we  can  find  her  and  persuade  her  to  come 
back — if — if  only  we  try  hard  enough!" 

"I — I  don't  understand,"  he  stammered.  "I 
feel  awfully  stupid.  You  mean — " 

He  was  growing  frightened  too. 

She  was  white  again,  and  her  lips  were  quiver 
ing. 

"I — I  mean,"  she  gasped,  "that  I that 

Ethel ....  that  you— 

She  paused  abruptly,  and  began  to  cry. 

His  uneasiness,  his  self-consciousness  fled  at  the 
appealing  spectacle  of  beauty,  helpless  and  in  dis 
tress:  he  thought  only  of  comforting  her,  and, 
manlike,  it  was  with  a  caress.  He  took  possession 
of  her  hands,  and  squeezed  them  tenderly. 

"There!  don't  cry,  Ettie!"  he  whispered  sooth- 


IOO  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

ingly.  "Just  tell  me  everything  freely,  and  see  if 
we  don't  do  all  we  can." 

She  suddenly  tore  her  hands  from  him. 

"Don't  presume  to  touch  me!"  she  cried,  with 
childish  indignation,  as  she  wiped  away  her  tears. 
"I  hate  you,  Seth  Lomack,  as  I  never  hated  any 
one  before.  Yes,  you  may  stare.  I  do  hate  you, 
you  conceited,  troublesome,  mischief-making 
thing!" 

"Etta!" 

She  rose  regally,  and  swept  him  a  mocking 
curtsy. 

"The  pretty  truth  is,  sir,"  she  said,  warming 
up  to  her  subject,  "that  I  actually  fancied  I  was 
in  love  with  you,  and  I  was  jealous  of  Ethel  and 
made  her  miserable,  and  she  has  run  off  to  be  out 
of  the  way.  Now  could  you  have  thought  me  so 
insane?  But  I  wonder  at  myself — now!" 

"There,  Etta !"  he  cried  shrinkingly.  "Don't 
say  any  more,  child! — you  are  over-excited  and 
don't  know  what  you're  saying.  This  is  nonsense. 
Let  me  go  now,  and  we'll  talk  about  Ethel  an 
other  time."  He  was  anxious  to  shield  the  girl 
from  herself,  anxious  to  be  alone  and  think  it  all 
out. 

But  the  girl  stood  over  his  chair,  adamant. 

"If  you  attempt  to  go,"  she  cried  dauntlessly, 
"I'll  pull  you  back  by  the  coat-tails.  I  tell  you 
I'm  quite  capable  of  it.  It  isn't  nonsense,  Seth, 
really!  It's  the  sacred  truth.  You  want  to  see 


CAP  WHICH  FITTED  MANY  IOI 

Ethel  back  amongst  us  as  much  as  we  do,  don't 
you?  Of  course!  Well,  then,  listen  to  me.  I 
know  you  love  Ethel,  and  I  believe  she  loves  you. 
Get  leave  from  your  father;  hunt  her  down;  tell 
her  I've  found  out  that  I  really  cordially  detest 
you,  and  bring  her  home." 

"Etta!  It  would  be  no  use."  But  he  was 
stabbed  by  the  thought  that,  though  Etta  was 
wrong  in  her  suspicion  that  Ethel  loved  him,  she 
might  be  right  in  her  surmise  that  Ethel  had  gone 
away  fearing  he  would  continue  to  press  his  suit, 
to  leave  the  field  open.  He  must  write  to  Ethel 
and  reassure  her  on  the  point.  Had  his  prema 
ture  proposal  actually  caused  the  catstrophe? 
Etta  again  recalled  his  thoughts  to  herself. 

"It  would  be  of  use,  I  tell  you !"  she  cried 
with  a  stamp  of  the  foot.  "Just  you  find  Ethel, 
tell  her  that  I  loathe  you  for  being  the  cause  of 
all  this  and  will  never  tolerate  you  again  except  as 
her  husband,  and  you'll  see.  Come !  You'll  do  it, 
won't  you?" 

He  stared  at  her.  He  was  flushed,  embarrased, 
tongue-tied,  amazed !  He  had  known  this  girl  for 
years  and  years,  and  yet  he  had  never  really 
sounded  her.  The  pretty  pool  appeared  so  shal 
low  ;  and,  like  most  of  us,  he  had  unquestioningly 
accepted  that  most  unreliable  of  all  evidence — 
the  mere  evidence  of  the  eye.  And  the  depth  of 
that  same  pool  was  overwhelming  him.  She  mis 
understood  his  silence,  and  grew  troubled  again. 


102  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"I — I  suppose,  Seth,  you're  surprised — 
shocked — at  my  speaking  out  my  heart  to  you  in 
this  manner.  It's  unconventional, — brazen,  if 
you  like, — and,  I  know,  only  a  very  big  thing 
could  possibly  excuse  it.  But — but  isn't  this  big 
enough,  Seth?" 

He  couldn't  help  her  yet;  he  was  struggling  to 
collect  and  revive  his  swamped  faculties. 

"I — I  meant  it  well  at  any  rate,"  she  continued, 
"and — and  it  wasn't  easy  to  do.  I  couldn't  have 
done  it.  I  should  never  have  thought  of  it,  but 
for  Addie.  Addie's  a  brick  of  the  finest  kind, 
and  I  mean  to  be  a  little  worthier  of  calling  my 
self  her  sister." 

He  was  himself  again. 

"If  Addie's  a  brick,  Etta,  you're  another,  that's 
clear.  Two  dear  little  gold  bricks,  one  set  with 
turquoises  and  the  other  with — with.  .  .  .why 
there's  no  stone  to  match  your  bright  eyes !  I've 
never  known  your  real  worth,  stupid  head  that  I 
am!  I'm  just  as  proud  as — as — Lucifer! — to 
call  you  both  my  friends.  And,  look  here,  little 
girl,  it's  a  fine  thing  to  point  out  the  right  way, 
but  it's  a  finer  thing  to  make  your  way  along  it. 
Etta,  I'll  tell  you  everything.  I'd  bring  Ethel 
back  if  I  could — but  I  can't!  I've  tried  hard  to 
make  her  care  for  me,  I've  asked  her  to  become  en 
gaged  to  me  and  let  me  try  still  harder — but  she 
couldn't!  She  doesn't  care  for  me,  except  as  a 
friend.  I've  fully  realized  that.  Believe  me,  if 


CAP  WHICH  FITTED  MANY  103 

there'd  been  the  smallest  chance  for  me,  I'd  have 
known  it  instantly;  and  nobody  then  need  have 
asked  me  to  seek  her.  A  man  knows  pretty  well 
when  a  woman  cares  for  him  and  when  she 
doesn't — whatever  she  may  feel  called  upon  to  say 
or  do.  Ethel  assured  me,  in  an  unmistakably  sin 
cere  manner,  that  the  humdrum  existence  of  mar 
riage  would  bore  her  to  death." 

Seth's  earnestness  left  no  room  for  further 
doubt.  So  it  had  been  all  done;  all  borne  with 
for  nothing!  He  rose,  and  held  out  his  hand  to 
her,  feeling  that  it  was  kindest  to  leave  her  at 
once.  There  was  a  strange  dignity  about  the 
childish  creature  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  and 
said  in  a  very  quiet,  tired  voice: 

"Good-by,  I'm  sorry  I've  bothered  you  for 
nothing." 

He  held  the  cold,  little  hand  tightly  and  looked 
intently  at  her  pale,  set  face. 

"I — I  don't  like  to  think  I'm  utterly  detestable 
to  you,"  he  said  awkwardly.  "Don't  cast  me 
off — let  me  still  come  as  before!" 

"Yes,"  she  said  dully.  "You  can  come — for 
news  of  Ethel." 

"And  don't  worry  about  Ethel,"  he  said  quite 
cheerfully,  although  his  heart  felt  so  sore  on  the 
subject.  "She  can  look  after  herself,  you  know, 
and  I  don't  think  any  one  has  really  been  to  blame. 
You  understand  that  I  cannot  force  my  presence 
on  her,  or  attempt  to  influence  her — I  have  not 


IO4  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

the  smallest  excuse.  But  I  don't  want  you  to 
think  me  unsympathetic." 

"No.     I  understand,"  she  said.     "Good-by." 

He  kissed  the  little  passive  hand,  and  left  her. 

Addie  heard  him  go,  and  pushing  back  the  in 
tervening  door,  joined  her  sister.  In  a  low  tone 
Etta  briefly  and  impassively  communicated  to  her 
the  result  of  the  interview.  Then  they  returned 
to  their  mother,  who  was  sitting  in  sulky  dignity 
by  the  back-parlor  window.  She  knew  that  Etta 
was  going  to  appeal  to  Seth  to  find  Ethel,  and  dis 
approving  of  such  a  childish  proceeding  was  an 
noyed  at  her  inability  to  prevent  it.  She  was 
startled  to  hear  that  Seth  had  proposed  to  Ethel 
and  been  refused;  and,  on  his  own  frank  ac 
knowledgment,  Ethel  had  no  feeling  for  him  save 
that  of  friendship.  This  was  all  the  twins  told 
her.  She  was  not  informed  that,  in  order  to 
strengthen  the  appeal  to  Seth,  Etta,  urged  by  her 
sister,  had  given  herself  away  to  that  eligible 
youth.  Mrs.  Leon  would  have  indeed  been  furious 
over  this,  for,  outside  her  immediate  family  circle, 
she  was  a  great  respecter  of  les  convenances.  Seth 
exonerated  from  playing  any  part  in  the  mystery 
of  Ethel's  disappearance,  Mrs.  Leon's  restless 
thoughts  were  turned  unwillingly  on  Dr.  Sartin. 

"Girls,"  she  said  timidly,  and  coloring,  "you 
often  get  to  know  things  about  each  other  quicker 
than  your  elders  do.  Do — do  you  think  Ethel 
cares  for — for  Dr.  Sartin?" 


CAP  WHICH  FITTED  MANY  1 05 

They  laughed.  The  situation,  though  unac 
knowledged,  was  known  to  be  so  thoroughly  un 
derstood  between  the  three — Ethel's  unselfishness 
and  their  mother's  bitter  jealousy  over  the  Doc 
tor — that  the  obvious  "Then  why  should  she  run 
away?"  was  not  uttered. 

"Why,  no,  Mommer!"  Addie  cried.  "I'm  sure 
she  doesn't — except  in  a  daughterly  way." 

They  would  both  have  liked  to  add,  "Don't  let 
that  thought  trouble  you, — you  need  never  have 
fretted  yourself  and  Ethel  over  it,"  but  they  lacked 
the  courage,  perhaps  sufficient  indifference  to  their 
conscience-oppressed  mother,  to  utter  the  con 
temptuous  words. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Leon,  relieved,  "we  must 
wait  and  see  what  our  letters  of  this  morning  will 
do  with  Ethel.  Oh,  the  humiliation  of  having  to 
send  them  through  Mr.  Law !  I  have  great  hopes 
in  them,  however.  I  know  /  never  took  such  pains 
with  a  letter  before!" 

"Nor  I,"  the  girls  added  simultaneously. 

The  front  door  bell  rang,  and  in  a  few  mo 
ments  Dr.  Sartin's  voice  was  heard  in  the  hall. 

"Talk  of  the  old  boy,"  Etta  muttered,  and 
paused — for  the  Doctor,  hot  and  flustered,  had 
hurriedly  joined  them. 

"I've  just  met  Seth  Lomack,"  he  began  without 
any  conventional  greeting,  "and  he  has  told  me 
that  Ethel  has  gone  off  for  good  on  the  sly.  I 


IO6  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

couldn't  credit  it,  and  I've  rushed  in  to  learn  the 
truth  of  the  matter." 

"Well,  you've  heard  it,"  said  Mrs.  Leon  coldly. 
"Addie,  show  Dr.  Sartin  Ethel's  note." 

"Well,  well!"  the  Doctor  murmured,  consider 
ably  appalled  as  he  finished  the  missive;  and  the 
same  thought  which  had  stabbed  poor  Seth  Lo- 
mack  darted  through  his  mind — namely,  that 
Ethel  had  run  away  from  any  renewal  of  his  offer 
and  any  further  aggravation  of  the  mistress  of 
the  house.  Good  Heavens !  was  he  responsible 
for  her  departure  from  the  shelter  of  home?  He 
felt  wretchedly  uncomfortable,  and  compassionate, 
too,  toward  his  probable  fellow-sinner. 

"You  all  look  terribly  upset,"  he  said,  with  a 
timid  glance  round,  "and  no  wonder.  Especially 
you,  Mrs.  Leon.  Come !  We  mustn't  have  you 
breaking  down,  you  know."  And  he  laid  his  hand 
sympathetically  on  her  pulse. 

But  the  lady,  to  his  surprise,  swiftly  drew  her 
hand  away. 

"I'm  all  right,"  she  said  tartly.  "Only  wor 
ried." 

"You  want  bracing  up  after  all  this  wear  and 
tear,"  he  continued  nervously.  "Let  me  send  you 
in  a  nice  tonic  of  some  sort,  eh?" 

"No,  thank  you."  Her  tone  was  brusque  in  the 
extreme. 

The  Doctor  was  not  a  little  disconcerted  at  his 


CAP  WHICH  FITTED  MANY  1 07 

reception;  his  professional  attentions  had  been 
heretofore  so  eagerly  and  gratefully  received. 

"Well,  cheer  up,  all  of  you!"  he  said,  with  an 
effort  to  be  easy.  "We'll  get  Ethel  back,  never 
fear.  I'm  going  to  try  all  I  can !  Good-night." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Mrs.  Leon  first,  but 
that  lady  bent  her  face  lower  over  her  fancy  work, 
and  her  "Good-night"  was  icy  enough  to  make 
him  feel  inclined  to  shiver.  But  he  understood 
and  respected  her  unjust  treatment  of  him.  "You 
made  me  unkind  to  Ethel,"  her  whole  attitude 
said;  and  Dr.  Sartin  turned  away  from  this  little 
specimen  of  the  impartiality  of  female  recrimina 
tion  with  a  higher  opinion  of  his  former  trouble 
some  patient  than  he  had  yet  entertained  for  her. 
The  pretty  blue  eyes  instead  of  ogling  him  brightly 
were  full  of  the  hot  tears  of  shame;  he  saw  them 
stealing  through  the  downcast  lashes.  But  the 
girls  threw  themselves  into  the  uncomfortable  gap 
and  shook  hands  with  him  cordially,  encouraging 
him  earnestly  and  thankfully  in  any  effort  he 
could  make  to  recover  their  dear  sister. 

"They're  better  than  I  thought  them,"  the  Doc 
tor  soliloquized  as  he  trudged  home.  "You  can't 
correctly  estimate  people  until  you  see  them  in 
trouble.  Then  the  strong  sometimes  fail  you,  and 
the  weak  nearly  always  surprise  you.  Talking  of 
the  strong  reminds  me  of  Ethel.  She's  treated 
us  shabbily,  and  yet  I  can't  feel  indignant  with 
her  as  Seth  is — though  I'm  just  as  sore.  I've  a 


IO8  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

sneaking  admiration  for  the  masculine  prompti 
tude  and  resolution  with  which  she  has  cut  the 
Gordian  knot.  Would  she  have  made  me  a  de 
sirable  wife  I  wonder?  I  don't  know.  She'd  al 
ways  have  interested — have  fascinated  me,  I'm 
sure;  but  she  isn't  domesticated,  she  isn't  tender, 
or  clinging — those  are  prosaic  qualities,  of  course, 
far  too  commonplace  to  stir  up  our  enthusiasms; 
but  they  wear  well,  and  there's  solid  comfort  in 
them.  Those  three  poor  thoughtless,  self-centered 
little  birds!  Poor  little  hurt  things!  I'd  like  to 
stroke  down  their  pretty,  ruffled  plumage,  I'm  so 
sorry  for  them — and  I  mean  to  try.  Meanwhile, 
Miss  Ethel,  I'll  give  you  a  dressing-down  with 
my  pen." 

Addie  again  joined  Etta  in  her  room  when  they 
went  up-stairs.  She  put  her  arm  round  the 
sobered,  listless  little  maid. 

"I'm  sorry,  Sis,"  she  said,  with  a  hug,  "that  you 
went  through  it  all  for  nothing.  I  wish  I  had  let 
things  alone.  But  it  seemed  the  most  likely  solu 
tion  of  the  riddle,  the  most  hopeful  thing  to  do, 
now  didn't  it?" 

"Oh,  yes!  it  certainly  did;  and  it  has  as  cer 
tainly  failed." 

"Well,  you'll  forgive  me,  won't  you?" 

"Of  course,  you  goose!" 

Etta  kissed  her  sister,  pushed  her  away,  and 
threw  herself  gloomily  into  a  chair. 

"Ettie,   what   is   bothering  you?     Don't  think 


CAP  WHICH  FITTED  MANY  109 

anything  more  of  the  interview  to-night — every 
body  will  forget  it,  so  it's  not  worth  while. 
You've  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  anyway.  I  hate 
to  see  you  and  Mommer  so  miserable.  You 
mustn't  think  I've  forgotten  that  I've  added 
my  quota  to  the  general  stream —  know  I've 
helped  to  drive  Ethel  away.  You  don't  know 
how  horrid  I've  been  to  her  at  times.  We've  got 
to  comfort  each  other." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  about  the  interview,"  Etta 
said  impatiently,  "but  Seth  said  an  awful  thing 
to-night." 

"What  was  it?" 

"He  said  a  man  always  knew  whether  a  woman 
cared  for  him  or  not,  whatever  she  might  feel 
called  upon  to  say  or  do !" 

"Well?"  said  Addie,  with  a  strangled  smile. 

"Well,"  returned  Etta,  rising,  dragging  off  her 
ornaments  and  flinging  them  down  roughly  on  the 
bureau,  "I  think  a  man  is  the  meanest  thing  in 
creation,  that's  all!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHAT  TIME  DID 

The  letters  written  to  Ethel  were  duly 
answered;  she  smiled  over  the  different  tying  of 
the  strings,  and  dexterously  soothed  each  restless 
conscience  in  turn.  She  reported  herself  to  each 
as  well,  happy,  and  comfortable;  and  as  busily 
arranging  to  adopt  a  profession,  of  which  she 
would  probably  tell  them  more  later.  That  was 
all.  She  resolutely  kept  the  secret  of  her  where 
abouts  and  special  interests,  and  the  disappoint 
ment  she  consequently  occasioned  in  five  breasts 
was  keen.  The  letters  had  been  sent  under  cover 
to  Mr.  Law  and  reposted  by  him  in  Brooklyn.  It 
must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  the  step 
mother  and  sisters  left  Mr.  Law  in  peace  because 
of  their  complete  defeat  at  their  first  interview 
with  him  on  the  subject.  After  receipt  of  Ethel's 
first  unsatisfactory  letter,  they  forced  several  more 
interviews  upon  him  before  they  finally  gave  up 
the  attempt  to  conquer  him  as  absolutely  hopeless. 
Dr.  Sartin  and  Seth  also  had  divers  skirmishes 
with  the  man  of  law  and  iron.  He  received  them 
the  first  time  patiently;  the  second  time  shortly; 
and  the  third  time  he  asked  the  Doctor  sarcasti 
cally  whether  he  had  abandoned  medicine  for  de- 


WHAT  TIME  DID  III 

tective  work,  and  recommended  him,  if  he  had,  to 
return  to  his  first  love  as  the  latter  was  clearly  not 
his  metier;  and  he  threatened  to  put  a  mansard 
roof  on  Seth's  head  if  he  presumed  to  bother  him 
any  more  about  the  matter.  So  they,  too,  retired 
reluctantly  from  the  field.  To  inquiring  friends, 
Mrs.  Leon  helplessly  stated  the  facts  of  Ethel's 
withdrawal  as  she  (Ethel)  had  put  them,  and  was 
commiserated  with  on  having  such  an  unruly 
daughter. 

"But  she'll  come  back  after  a  while,  don't  you 
fret,"  they  would  add  consolingly. 

"I  don't  know,"  Mrs.  Leon  would  return. 
"She  was  always  queer — obstinate." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  you've  nothing  to  reproach 
yourself  with,"  would  be  the  next  remark.  And 
here  Mrs.  Leon's  self-possession  would  desert  her 
suddenly,  and  she  would  relapse  into  a  frightened 
silence ;  and  the  friends  were  left  to  make  the  best 
they  could  of  the  affair,  which,  being  nothing,  did 
not  sustain  their  interest. 

Meanwhile,  Ethel  was  giving  Henry  Law  her 
fullest  confidence,  and  her  regular  and  graphic 
letters  afforded  him  the  keenest  satisfaction. 
First:  she  was  leisurely  looking  about  her  and 
acquiring  every  little  information  as  to  the  modus 
operandi  of  introducing  herself  to  the  hospital 
with  the  best  effect,  and  Mrs.  Rice's  establishment 
fully  deserved  the  character  given  it — there  was 
no  falling  off;  she  was  supremely  comfy,  happy, 


112  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

and  healthful.  Then  she  had  joined  the  Protes 
tant  Episcopal  Church  of  her  district,  and  was 
cultivating  the  pastor — as  a  "character"  from 
him  was  a  necessary  credential.  Then  she  had 
passed  the  necessary  physical  examination  with 
honours,  and  had  entered  on  her  three  months' 
probation  at  the  Charity  Hospital.  And  then — 
hurrah! — her  probation  was  over  with  complete 
success,  and  she  had  commenced  her  two  years' 
training  as  a  nurse. 

And  while  this  was  being  accomplished,  Time 
was  healing  all  chafened  surfaces  and  rounding  off 
all  rough  and  broken  edges  with  his  slow  but  un 
failing  tools — leisurely  but  systematically  dropping 
his  wonderful  oil  on  the  troubled  waters  until  they 
were  calmed  into  a  philosophic  quiescence.  Dr. 
Sartin  and  Seth  continued  to  call  at  the  red-brick 
house  in  Pacific  Street,  and  were  noted  frequently 
by  the  neighbors  under  the  quaint  black  portico 
which  sheltered  the  top  of  the  high  stoop  and 
shadowed  the  massive  double  doors  of  carved 
mahogany;  and  the  familiar  sight  called  forth  at 
last  suggestive  smiles  and  insinuating  whispers. 
They  came  for  news  of  Ethel  of  course;  and  they 
continued  to  come  for  news  of  Ethel  long  after 
that  had  ceased  to  be  their  primary  object.  For 
the  Doctor  found  himself  subtly  dismissed  as 
medical  attendant,  and  treated  altogether  so  cav 
alierly  that  he  became  unexpectedly  interested, 
under  this  steady  snubbing,  in  the  study  of  a 


WHAT  TIME  DID  113 

woman's  conscience  and  resolution  as  presented  by 
his  quondam  sophistical  and  weak  patient,  Mrs. 
Leon.  Steeled  to  all  rebuffs,  he  exercised  his  priv 
ilege  as  an  old  friend,  and  stormed  her  hospitality 
with  unabatable  ardor.  And  Seth — Seth  grad 
ually  but  only  too  surely  fell  in  love  with  the  little 
stranger  Etta  had  introduced  to  him  at  that  un 
forgettable  interview,  and  his  courtship  was  a 
stormy  one.  Etta  was  stoically  friendly  while  he 
kept  his  new  feeling  for  her  well-cloaked  by  the 
old  one;  but  at  the  faintest  bursting  through  of 
that  new  and  rapidly  swelling  tenderness  the  girl's 
pride  would  rise  fiercely,  vindictively  armed;  and 
Seth  could  only  sigh  and  retire.  Nevertheless, 
these  augmenting  battles  must  have  possessed  a 
strange  and  deep  fascination  for  Seth,  for  he 
always  returned  to  the  fray  with  undiminished  per- 
serverance  and  courage.  He  knew  that  Etta  loved 
him ;  but  she  had  humbled  her  pride  to  him  and  so 
increased  its  natural  sensitiveness  a  thousandfold, 
and  that  it  would  ever  allow  her  to  acknowledge 
her  love  and  permit  him  to  touch  what  was  inevi 
tably  his  was  extremely  doubtful.  The  situation 
was  most  provoking;  but  it  was  piquant,  too,  and 
very  stimulating. 

Toward  the  close  of  Ethel's  training,  Addie's 
faithful  sweetheart,  Dickie  Leigh,  had  a  plump 
piece  of  good  luck  tossed  into  his  hands  by  that 
most  capricious  of  femininities  Dame  Fortune. 


114  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

The  firm  which  employed  him,  a  large  drygoods 
house,  suddenly  offered  him  the  management  of 
their  branch  house  in  Japan,  vacant  through  an 
untimely  death,  and,  as  well,  a  handsome  increase 
of  salary.  This  well-earned  mark  of  apprecia 
tion  placed  a  long-coveted  treasure  at  last  honor 
ably  within  Dickie's  grasp,  and  he  demanded 
Addie  of  Mrs.  Leon  without  delay.  As  his  pros 
pects  were  very  bright,  and  he  was  an  all-round 
deserving  young  man,  and,  moreover,  as  Addie's 
heart  was  certainly  his,  Mrs.  Leon  graciously  con 
sented.  The  wedding  was  hurried  on,  for  Dick 
had  to  depart  as  soon  as  possible,  and  he  flatly  re 
fused  to  go  without  Addie.  Ethel  was  written  to, 
of  course,  and  entreated  to  return  for  the  cere 
mony;  but  in  a  most  loving  letter  she  declared, 
much  as  she  longed  to,  she  could  not  do  so.  This 
was  a  big  piece  of  self-sacrifice  on  Ethel's  part, 
yet  it  failed  to  be  appreciated,  ^as  many  big  things 
do;  and  a  coolness  on  their  side  toward  the  ap 
parently  unfeeling  and  refractory  Ethel  was  born. 
Mrs.  Leon  and  her  daughters  were  bitterly  hurt. 
The  truth  was  that  Ethel  mistrusted  her  strength 
to  resist  the  deserted  mother  and  sisters  when  the 
time  for  parting  came,  and  she  did  not  want  to 
give  up  the  career  which  now  lay  with  so  much 
promise  before  her,  nor  to  be  a  possibly  disturbing 
element  in  the  course  of  Dr.  Sartin's  and  Seth's 
respective  courtships.  She  had  not  given  Henry 
Law  her  confidence  respecting  these  two  men, 


WHAT  TIME  DID  115 

nevertheless,  he  was  quite  shrewd  enough  to  guess 
the  truth,  and  he  was  always  anxious  to  send  her 
any  news  which  his  knowledge  of  her  told  him 
would  be  gratifying. 

So  he  had  kept  her  informed  of  the  gradual 
tendency  and  growth  of  her  rejected  suitors'  affec 
tions,  and  she  was  more  resolved  than  ever  to  keep 
dark  until  these  now  submissive  souls  had  floated 
into  their  natural  harbors;  a  cross-current,  such 
as  her  presence  would  bring,  might  turn  them  from 
their  homeward  course  and  send  them  adrift  again. 
Ethel  was  not  a  vain  woman,  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  she  was  far  too  sensible  to  ignore  facts;  she 
knew  her  personality  possessed  a  powerful  fascina 
tion  over  these  two  men;  away  from  her,  this 
feeling  naturally  faded  into  torpidity  with  them; 
but,  in  her  presence,  it  might  be  roused  again  and 
sway  them.  So  Ethel  put  from  her  the  yearning 
to  see  step-mother  and  sisters  again,  and,  above 
all,  the  passionate  desire  to  take  Addie  in  her  arms 
and  wish  her  God-speed  on  the  new  untried,  and 
doubtful  road  she  had  elected  to  follow,  with  no 
better  guide  than  an  impulsive,  romantic  baby- 
heart  fired  by  a  young  man's  easily  excited  and 
reckless  tenderness.  Addie  was  Dickie's  ideal 
woman  now  when  he  was  twenty-four,  Ethel 
prayed  that  she  might  still  be  so  when  he  was 
thirty-four,  or,  failing  that,  the  next  best  thing — 
that  Dickie's  principles  and  kindness  of  heart 
might  be  depended  upon.  Thus  she  turned  to  her 


1 1 6  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

grateful  patients  for  comfort,  and  a  very  pretty 
little  wedding  in  which  she  was  deeply  interested 
took  place  without  her.  The  lovely  girl-bride 
sobbed  over  the  parting  with  mother  and  sister,  but 
she  sailed  away  with  a  cheery  confidence  in  her 
new  future,  a  confidence  Dickie  proved  himself  de 
serving  of.  Dr.  Sartin  and  Seth  did  their  best  to 
cheer  up  the  bereaved  mother  and  sister,  and  some 
success  attended  their  efforts  at  last;  a  faint  show 
of  gratitude  was  accorded  them,  and  they  made 
the  most  of  it. 

"I'll  be  a  detestable  old  bachelor,  and  you'll  be 
a  ridiculous-looking  old  maid,"  Seth  said  to  Etta 
one  evening  as  he  sat  beside  her  while  she  trilled 
coon-congs  at  the  piano,  and  Dr.  Sartin  and  Mrs. 
Leon  pow-wowed  in  the  back-parlor.  "We're  not 
cut  out  for  the  roles,  and  it's  a  sin — a  crime — for 
you  to  force  them  upon  us." 

"Don't  be  an  idiot,  Seth!"  flashed  out  Etta, 
abandoning  her  song  but  keeping  up  the  soft,  run 
ning  accompaniment.  "And  rude  besides!" 

"I'm  not  rude!"  he  protested.  "I  only  mean 
that  with  your  thorough  beauty  and  winsomeness 
you'll  never  be  able  to  look  the  part  of  a  staid, 
philanthropic  busy-body — a  preaching,  interfering, 
self-satisfied,  unclaimed  blessing.  No,  not  if  you 
live  to  be  a  hundred !" 

"Well,  don't  distress  yourself,  I  haven't  the 
slightest  intention  of  becoming  an  old  maid,"  she 
returned  loftily.  "I  shall  make  a  suitable  match 


WHAT  TIME  DID  1 1 7 

when  I'm  ready.  But  there's  no  hurry:  I'm  not 
fading — yet." 

"It's  a  bit  disappointing,"  he  murmured  tim 
idly,  "still  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  grateful  for 
small  mercies.  Yes,  I  am  grateful:  I'll  thank 
fully  wait  your  time." 

Etta  struck  a  sharp  chord  upon  the  piano,  and 
turned  upon  him  a  pair  of  blazing  eyes. 

"Don't  frizzle  me!"  he  pleaded  feebly. 

"I  wish  I  could!"  she  retorted.  "When  will 
you  understand,  Seth  Lomack,  that  you  don't  enter 
into  my  scheme  of  life  at  all?  I  said  a  suitable 
match,  you  mountebank!" 

"But  what's  to  become  of  me?" 

"Well,  you  may  find  a  girl  foolish  enough  to 
marry  you,  you  know.  There  are  so  many  fools 
in  the  world;  still," — with  a  scornful  curl  of  her 
pretty  lip, — "you  mustn't  forget  that  there  are 
degrees  of  folly.  You  may  fail  to  find  one  suffi 
ciently  large  of  mouth  to  swallow  you."  And  she 
returned  to  her  music  and  sang  away  merrily. 

"You've  talked  nonsense,  Etta,"  Seth  pursued 
gravely,  "and  we  both  know  it.  You'll  never  be 
ready  to  make  a  match  unless  it  is  with  me.  As 
for  me,  of  course,  I  could  marry  heaps  of  splen- 
diriferous  girls,  but — " 

"But,"  amended  Etta,  stopping  short  in  her 
song,  but  still  tinkling  away  at  the  keys,  "you  don't 
happen  to  live  in  a  country  where  it  is  allowable. 
What  a  pity !  A  few  wives,  smarting  under  their 


1 1 8  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

first  sense  of  disillusionment,  would  soon  make  an 
end  of  you.  And  I,  for  one,  should  be  deeply 
obliged  to  them." 

"No,  you  wouldn't.  But,  there!  you  don't 
mean  what  you  say.  What  you  really  mean  is 
that  you  would  never  smile  again." 

"I'd  build  bonfires  for  joy." 

"Etta!     Won't  you  be  reasonable,  dear?" 

"Dear!  How  dare  you  be  so  familiar!  I'll 
never  be  what  you  call  reasonable — never,  never, 
Seth  Lomack!" 

"I  can't  understand  your  pleasure  in  hurting  me 
so,  Etta." 

"No,  I  suppose  not." 

"And — and    aren't    you — aren't    you    hurting 
yourself     *      *      *      *     a  little     *      *      *      * 
too?     Come!     Just  say  'Yes,'  Etta,  and  be  done 
with  it." 

Etta  jumped  up,  and  closed  the  piano  with  a 
sharp  bang. 

"Look  here,"  she  said  furiously  to  Seth,  "I've 
had  enough  of  you !"  And  she  promptly  joined 
the  others. 

A  game  of  whist  was  proposed,  but  Seth  refused 
to  take  a  hand.  Sore  and  angry,  he  muttered  an 
excuse,  and  took  his  leave.  Etta  bore  his  de 
parture  with  unruffled  serenity,  perhaps,  because 
she  knew  she  would  see  him  again  and  before  long ; 
she  good-naturedly  offered  to  take  dummy  for  her 
partner,  and  the  game  of  whist  proceeded. 


WHAT  TIME  DID 

Dr.  Sartin  stayed  late.  Mrs.  Leon  had  been 
wonderfully  gentle  and  gracious  to  him  all  the  eve 
ning,  and  with  that  heretofore  lacking  touch  of 
reserve  which  gave  value  to  her  favors  and  zest  to 
his  appreciation.  He  was  loth  to  leave  the  cosy 
parlor,  with  its  daintily  pretty  feminine  touches, 
and  the  society  of  these  two  attractive  tender  gen 
tlewomen  for  his  grim  widower's  home  and  the 
ministrations  of  his  trustworthy  and  capable  old 
housekeeper,  who  was  harsh  of  face  and  hands  and 
stern  of  speech.  Perhaps  he  was  more  sensitive 
than  usual  to  the  contrast,  because  he  was  feeling 
decidedly  unwell.  At  length,  after  trumping  his 
partner's  best  suit  and  playing  into  dummy's  hand, 
and  other  high  misdemeanors  of  a  like  description, 
he  was  obliged  to  own  the  state  of  affairs  apolo 
getically,  and  prepare  to  depart. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Leon  decisively,  "you  don't  go 
until  I've  made  you  a  cup  of  coffee  worth  drink 
ing.  It  will  warm  you  up  for  the  trip  home — the 
weather's  raw  to-night.  I  thought  you  didn't  look 
well;  you  should  have  spoken  before."  And  the 
servants  having  gone  to  bed,  Mrs.  Leon,  ignoring 
the  Doctor's  feeble  protests,  bustled  away  to  pre 
pare  the  comforting  beverage  with  her  own  fair 
hands. 

"Sit  here,  Doc,"  Etta  said  sympathetically,  ris 
ing  and  waving  him  into  the  biggest  arm-chair, 
which  she  piled  well  with  downy  cushions.  "Sit 
here,  and  make  yourself  cosy." 


I2O  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

Dr.  Sartin  complied ;  and  he  held  the  little  girl's 
hand  as  she  stood  beside  him,  and  patted  it  gently. 

"Well,  what's  the  latest  news  from  Ad,  Et- 
tie?" 

"Oh,  as  bright  as  ever!  They're  worthy  of 
each  other,  Ad  and  Dick.  Only  think,  Doc,  Ad- 
die's  been  married  nearly  a  year  already!" 

"Wonderful,    isn't   it?"   he   returned    affection 
ately.     "And  we  miss  her  as  much  as  ever,  eh?" 
"Yes,  of  course.     You  see,  she  took  half  of  me 
away  with  her:   I'm  bound  to  miss  that." 

"Well,  we  must  find  a  substitute,"  the  Doctor 
pursued  whimsically.  "I  think  we  must  follow  a 
good  example  and  get  married  ourselves.  Now 
what  do  you  say  to  that?  Plenty  of  nice  people 
going  begging." 

Etta  drew  her  hand  away.  "I'd  rather  not," 
she  said  pointedly  as  she  turned  away  and  seated 
herself. 

And  the  Doctor  laughed,  and  changed  the  sub 
ject. 

That  cup  of  coffee  finished  the  Doctor.  Mrs. 
Leon  had  proved  to  him  that,  under  innumerable 
foibles,  she  possessed  a  conscience  and  a  kind  little 
heart  of  her  own,  and  now  that  she  could  make 
the  best  cup  of  coffee  he  had  ever  tasted.  The 
Doctor  was  passionately  fond  of  coffee,  and  as  he 
drained  the  cup  he  took  a  sudden  resolution :  he 
would  marry  Mrs.  Leon  after  all.  He  had  a  fair 
share  of  that  pretty  well  universal  masculine  con- 


WHAT  TIME  DID  121 

fidence  respecting  women — namely,  that  their 
liking  can  always  be  cultivated  into  love;  and  so 
no  doubt  as  to  the  result  of  his  gracious  decision 
to  cultivate  this  little  specimen  bf  femininity 
troubled  the  Doctor's  sturdy  mind.  Men  are 
sometimes  right. 

But  the  Doctor's  intentions  had  to  be  shelved 
for  a  few  weeks,  during  which  he  was  ill  unto 
death.  The  most  assidious  inquiries  and  the  most 
toothsome  delicacies  came  from  1429  Pacific 
Street;  and  it  was  to  this  house  that  the  Doctor 
paid  his  first  call  when  he  was  able  to  crawl  about 
again.  His  reception  was  invigoratingly  cordial. 

"But  ought  you  to  have  ventured  out  so  soon?" 
Mrs.  Leon  inquired  anxiously  of  the  pale  shadow 
of  her  former  ruddy  and  robust  friend. 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  The  fact  is,  I  was  impa 
tient  to  see  you  and  Etta  and  tell  you  a  big  piece 
of  news." 

"Yes,"  they  said  with  interest. 

"I'm  going  to  retire  from  my  profession,  and 
return  to  the  auld  country." 

There  was  a  strained  silence.  Then  Etta,  who 
sat  close  beside  him,  laid  her  hand  affectionately 
on  the  Doctor's  arm. 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry!"  she  said  impulsively. 

The  Doctor  leaned  over  and  touched  her  temple 
with  his  lips. 

"Sorry  that  the  old  man  can  and  is  going  to 
give  himself  a  rest,  sweetheart?"  he  asked. 


122  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"No.     Sorry  to  lose  you." 

"Well,  we'll  talk  about  that  later." 

"But — but  what  will  all  your  enthusiastic  pa 
tients  do  for  you?"  Mrs.  Leon  at  length  mur 
mured.  "It's — it's  not  treating  them  as  they  de 
serve,  you  know.  Now  is  it?" 

"Oh,  they'll  soon  forget  me  and  find  some  one 
they  like  better — it's  the  way  of  the  world." 

"Come,  Doctor!"  Mrs.  Leon  continued  plead 
ingly.  "You're  taking  this  illness  of  yours  too 
seriously:  you  feel  very  shaky  now,  but  you'll 
soon  be  your  old  self  again.  No,  take  a  good 
long  holiday — a  trip  to  the  'auld  counthry,'  if  you 
like — but  come  back  to  us." 

"You  don't  quite  understand  yet,"  returned  the 
Doctor.  "It  isn't  my  illness  that's  brought  me  to 
this  decision,  but  another  combination  of  circum 
stances." 

"Oh!"  they  cried,  and  waited  anxiously. 

"You  know,"  the  Doctor  went  on,  "my  family's 
rather  an  old  one,  and  there's  a  title  in  it.  Well, 
to  cut  a  long  story  short,  I've  come  into  the  title 
and  estate,  and  must  go  and  look  after  the  latter. 

They  stared  at  him  and  gasped. 

"Why — why  did  you  never  tell  us  about  this?" 
Mrs.  Leon  stammered.  "Such  old  friends,  too  I 
It  was  too  bad  of  you!" 

"Well,  I  stood  the  slimest  imaginable  chance  of 
ever  succeeding — it  never  entered  into  my  calcula- 


WHAT  TIME  DID  123 

tions  at  all — and  I  hate  the  snobbishness  of  fam 
ily  bragging." 

"It  comes  like  a  dream,"  Etta  murmured; 
"like  a  scene  from  a  book,  or  play.  It  sounds  too 
deliciously  romantic  for  prosaic  life." 

"Well,  aren't  you  going  to  congratulate  me?" 
the  Doctor  asked  wistfully. 

Etta  stood  up  and  held  out  both  her  hands. 

"With  all  my  heart,  Lord—?" 

"Kilburne,"  the  Doctor  amended  with  a 
chuckle.  "Funny,  isn't  it?" 

He  rose  to  take  the  little  hands  and  put  them  to 
his  lips.  The  lady  of  the  house  also  got  up,  and 
silently  offered  him  her  hand.  He  shook  it 
warmly. 

"And  now,"  cried  Etta,  when  they  were  all 
seated  again,  "tell  us  the  whole  history!"  Which 
the  Doctor  did. 

"When — do — you — go?"  asked  Mrs.  Leon 
slowly. 

"As  soon  as  I  can  get  ready — but  that  will  take 
some  time.  Perhaps  two  months. 

"Well,  the  gain  is  decidedly  yours;  the  loss, 
solely  ours — so  we  mustn't  regret  it,  must  we, 
Ettie?  It  would  be  too  abominably  selfish." 

Mrs.  Leon  still  spoke  slowly,  but  she  had  sum 
moned  up  a  smile. 

Alone  with  her  daughter  that  same  evening, 
she  said  suddenly: 

"Etta,   Ethel  might  have  been  a  countess,   in- 


124  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

stead  of  a — instead  of  a  / — don't — know — what! 
I  wish  she'd  hurry  up  and  tell  us:  she  keeps  put 
ting  it  off  most  tantalizingly." 

"Yes,  so  do  I  wish  she'd  tell  us,"  responded 
Eltta.  "But,  as  to  her  being  a  countess,  Doc  will 
look  higher  than  an  American  girl  now:  he'll 
marry  into  the  nobility,  if  he  marries  at  all." 

"A  man  can't  look  higher  than  a  nice  American 
girl,"  retorted  Mrs.  Leon  indignantly. 

"Loyal  old  Mummie,"  said  Etta  with  a  hug. 

Mrs.  Leon  sighed  heavily. 

"How  blue  you  look,  Mommer!  Come,  cheer 
up!" 

"Well,  Etta,  I  can't  help  feeling  rather  dismal. 
I've  lost  Ethel  and  Addie;  and,  now,  here's  our 
old,  old  friend  Dr.  Sartin,  passing  clean  out  of 
our  lives." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  he  is.  Three  thousand  miles  is 
a  big  distance,  and  correspondence  isn't  satisfac 
tory — besides,  a  man  never  keeps  it  up.  Of 
course,  he'll  enter  on  quite  a  different  style  of  life, 
and  it  will  absorb  him ;  and  we're  bound,  it  seems 
to  me,  to  grow  out  of  sympathy  with  each  other. 
Never  mind,  we  must  be  satisfied  that  he  is  happy. 
He  deserves  his  good  luck." 

"He  seems  cheerful  enough  over  it  already, 
doesn't  he,  Etta?" 

"Yes,  Mummie.  I've  felt  a  wee  bit  hurt  over 
that  myself.  Not  a  word  of  regret  at  leaving  old 
friends." 


WHAT  TIME  DID  125 

"Men  are  selfish  things,"  Mrs.  Leon  announced. 
"And  they  forget  so  easily." 

"Yes,"  was  the  quick  answer,  "they're  selfish 
and  mean,  and  teasing.  But  you've  still  got  me, 
Mummie,  and  always  will  have,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Leon  smiled  proudly  on  the  pretty  little 
creature. 

"I  shan't  have  you  long,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will!" 

"Your  cake's  waiting  for  you,  pigeon." 

Etta  drooped  her  head  low. 

"But  behind  closed  doors,"  she  whispered; 
"and  in  all  my  composition,  there's  not  a  key  bold 
and  strong  enough  to  open  it." 

"Come  here,  Etta!" 

Etta  came,  and  knelt  down  by  her  mother's 
chair.  Mrs.  Leon  played  with  the  dusky  hair,  and 
pinched  the  soft  face.  Then  she  kissed  it. 

"Don't  worry,  sweetheart!"  she  said  tenderly. 
"We'll  weld  that  key  yet" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS 

It  was  Etta's  custom  to  spend  a  few  days  every 
month  with  an  old  school-chum,  the  girls  visiting 
each  other's  houses  alternately;  and,  on  her  re 
turn  from  one  of  these  sojourns,  about  a  month 
after  Dr.  Sartln's  confidences,  Etta  thought  she 
noticed  a  change  in  her  mother.  She  welcomed 
her  daughter  home  as  lovingly  as  .usual,  but  she 
was  unusually  serious  and  quiet,  and  there  was  a 
deferential  air  of  timidity  and  constraint  about 
her,  very  puzzling  to  Etta.  Mrs.  Leon  did  not 
wait,  however,  to  be  questioned. 

"When  you  have  taken  off  your  things,"  she 
said,  after  she  had  heard  all  about  the  visit, 
"come  into  my  room,  Etta.  I've  something  to  tell 
you." 

"What!  More  surprises  in  store?  I  thought 
there  was  something  in  the  wind,  Mommer,  you 
look  so  gravely  important." 

"Yes.  It's  a  very  big  surprise,"  Mrs.  Leon  re 
turned,  with  a  nervous  laugh,  "and  I'm  as  im 
patient  to  tell  it  as  the  Doctor  was  to  tell  his — 
so  hurry  up." 

"All  right.     I'll  be  with  you  in  a  minute." 

"Well,"  said  Etta  ten  minutes  later,  "  'out  with 
it'!  as  Sam  Weller  says." 


FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS  127 

"Etta,  Dr.  Sartin— " 

"Lord  Kilburne,"  corrected  Etta,  with  mock 
solemnity. 

"Yes,  Lord  Kilburne  has  asked  me  to  marry 
him!" 

Etta  collapsed  in  her  chair. 

"Why,  I  never  thought  he  cared  for  you  in 
that  way!"  she  cried  bluntly  and  affrightedly.  "I 
never  dreamed  he  would,  under  any  circumstances, 
ask  you  to  be  his  wife,  much  less  these !" 

"Nor  did  I,"  returned  Mrs.  Leon,  with  rare 
meekness.  "But  he  has." 

"And  you — "  Etta  faltered,  beginning  to 
tremble  violently. 

"And  I  accepted  him,  of  course.  I've — I've 
always  liked  him,  and — and  it's  a  fine  thing  to  be 
a  countess,  you  know.  A  great  honor." 

"Oh,  mother,  say  it  isn't  true !" 

"Now,  Ettie  darling,  you  must  take  this  reason 
ably.  You're  thinking  of  your  good  father,  and 
so  am  I."  Here  Mrs.  Leon  put  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes.  "You  don't  like  to  think  of  anybody 
in  his  place,  and  I  feel  sensitive  about  it,  too.  But 
everything  soon  settles  down  comfortably  to  a 
natural  order  of  things,  and  it's  rank  ingratitude 
to  keep  the  door  closed  when  Fortune  is  knocking. 
I'm  sure  your  dear  father  himself  would  have  us 
to  take  advantage  of  this;  he  hadn't  a  selfish 
bone  in  his  body.  I've  felt  so  nervous  as  to  how 


128  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

you  would  like  this  news,  Etta.  Don't  make  me 
unhappy,  dear!" 

Etta  paid  no  attention  to  this  appeal;  she  had 
flushed  a  guilty  crimson  at  the  mention  of  her 
father,  and  it  was  this  part  of  Mrs.  Leon's  speech 
that  she  took  up. 

"I — I  hadn't  thought  of  dear  old  Pop — yet," 
she  stammered,  as  if  talking  to  herself.  "Yes,  it 
adds  tremendously  to  the  awfulness  of  it  all.  And 
some  other  consideration  will  turn  up  later,  when 
we've  had  a  little  more  time  to  think  in,  and  pile 
on  the  agony." 

Mrs.  Leon  burst  into  tears,  and  there  was  a 
pause  in  the  conversation. 

"Don't  cry,  Mummie!"  Etta  at  last  urged  re 
pentantly.  "I'm — I'm  not  going  to  bother  you. 
But.  .  .  .are  you  going  to  be  married.  .  .  .soon?" 

"Yes,  very  soon,  pet,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Leon.  "We 
shall  be  married  very,  very  quietly,  as  George 
wishes  it — only  ourselves." 

"And  then  you'll  go  with  him  to  Ireland  next 
month?" 

"Yes,"  continued  the  future  bride,  drying  her 
tears  and  brightening.  "We'll  go,  darling.  Etta  ! 
I  mean  you  to  have  the  most  glorious  time  in  Eu 
rope  that  ever  an  American  girl  had  yet!" 

"Mother!" 

"Yes,  I  do.  My  head  is  brimful  of  plans  for 
you,  and  I  shall  so  enjoy  carrying  them  out.  It's 
a  pity  Addie  married  so  soon,  or  I  might  have  had 


FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS  129 

both  my  daughters  Ladies,  or  Countesses,  or 
Duchesses,  or  Princesses.  I  tell  you,  with  your 
beauty  and  charms,  and  the  prestige  of  George's 
wealth  and  name,  we  shall  be  welcome  everywhere, 
and  may  aspire  to  anything!  I  am  so  glad  you 
and  Seth  haven't  come  to  an  understanding  now. 
I  could  almost  wish  Addie  unmarried — but  she's 
so  happy!" 

"Oh,  mother!" 

"And  Ethel?  Do  you  think  Ethel  will  come 
back  to  us  now  and  go  abroad  with  us,  Etta?" 

"No,  I'm  sure  she  won't!"  snapped  Etta. 
"She's  too  much  sense." 

"Well,  I'm  afraid  not,  too — but  she  shall  have 
the  chance.  It's  a  glorious  one,  I  think,  for  any 
girl." 

"Mother!" 

"Bless  the  child!  Can't  you  say  something  else. 
But  there !  You're  bewildered,  and  no  wonder.  I 
am  myself.  Why,  I  declare  you're  as  white  as  a 
ghost  and  shivering  like  a  leaf!" 

"Well,  it — it  isn't  every  day  one  is  greeted  with 
such  news,"  said  Etta,  making  a  desperate  effort 
to  rally  her  forces. 

"No,  indeed!  Think  of  the  receptions,  and 
balls,  and  concerts  we  shall  enjoy,  Etta !  Think 
of  the  distinguished  people  we  shall  mix  with  and 
entertain!  Won't  it  be  interesting?" 

"Ah!" 


130  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"Think  of  the  gowns  and  jewels  we  shall  have! 
Yours  shall  be  of  the  finest,  my  pretty;  I've  com 
menced  on  some  of  them  already.  And  we'll  show 
those  dowdy  automatic  English  women  how  to  put 
them  on  with  effect  and  carry  everything  before 
you." 

"Ah!" 

"We'll  be  presented  at  Court  both  in  Dublin 
and  London,  Etta." 

"Yes." 

"In  fact,  we're  going  to  have  the  very  best  of 
good  times,  little  girl." 

"Yes— ah,  yes!" 

"There !  I  hear  George's  voice  in  the  hall. 
Run  down  and  greet  him  affectionately,  chicken; 
he's  as  anxious  as  I  am  that  you  should  be  pleased. 
I'll  be  down  in  ten  minutes  or  so.  Give  me  a  kiss 
before  you  go  and  wish  me  joy.  There !  What 
cold  little  lips!  Run  away!" 

"Poor  old  Doc!"  thought  Etta,  as  she  walked 
downstairs.  "He's  going  to  have  a  lively  time. 
I  wonder  if  he  knows  it?" 

She  joined  the  Doctor  in  the  parlor  with  the 
calmness  of  sheer  despair.  Walking  up  to  him, 
she  raised  her  face  to  his. 

"Mommer's  just  told  me,"  she  said  stiffly.  "I 
hope  you'll  be  happy,  and  make  her  so." 

"I  have  no  doubts  myself,"  he  said  cheerily,  as 
he  kissed  her.  "And  can't  we  make  the  little 
daughter  happy  too?" 


FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS  131 

"You've  begun  well,  I  must  say!"  retorted  Etta, 
drawing  away  from  his  encircling  arm.  "You 
half  killed  me!" 

"How,  sweetheart?" 

"I — I  love  America,"  she  faltered  evasively. 
"It's  the  finest  country  in  the  world.  You're  tak 
ing  me  away  from  it." 

"You've  not  seen  the  other  countries,  Etta; 
each  has  its  own  peculiar  charms.  It's  a  fine  thing 
to  be  able  to  discriminate  amongst  them,  and  to  do 
that  one  must  travel.  Many  would  give  much  to 
have  the  chance." 

"Yes,"  she  assented  dully. 

"Your  mother  and  I  have  been  talking  a  lot 
about  you  while  you  have  been  away,"  the  Doctor 
continued,  "and  we  mean  you  to  see  what  we  can 
show  you  of  the  world  and  life.  You  shan't  have 
time  to  pine,  Etta." 

"You're  awfully  good.  Shall  you  enjoy  that, 
Doc  ? — I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  don't  know  what  to 
call  you." 

"Please  stick  to  'Doc.'  Shall  I  enjoy  it,  Etta? 
Ah,  well !  I'll  enjoy  seeing  your  mother  and  you 
enjoy  it,  at  any  rate.  Here  she  comes!  We're 
all  right,  you  see,  mother — as  right  as  a  trivet!" 

"What  a  happy  little  mother  she  looked — 
until  Seth  joined  the  trio.  Then  her  gay  blue  eyes 
sought  Etta's  face  with  anxious  inquiry,  and  her 
bright  countenance  grew  momentarily  uneasy  over 
what  they  read  there.  For  Etta  had  blanched  and 


132  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

grown  rigid  under  Seth's  warm  greeting;  but,  in 
an  instant,  and  with  a  mighty  effort,  the  girl  mas 
tered  and  cloaked  her  feelings.  Before  any  one 
could  remark  on  her  emotion,  almost  before  any 
one  could  notice  it,  her  natural  color  was  again 
mantling  her  cheeks,  her  lips  were  smiling,  and 
she  was  chatting  vivaciously.  Mrs.  Leon,  who 
was  certainly  not  of  an  analytical  turn  of  mind, 
was  at  once  relieved  and  reassured. 

"It  must  have  been  some  trick  of  the  lights," 
she  thought,  "which  made  her  look  at  first  so 
deathlike.  They  can  make  you  look  funny  at 
times !" 

"Come  and  play  to  me,  Etta,"  Seth  soon 
pleaded,  anxious  to  have  her  to  himself  in  the 
other  room.  "I  haven't  had  any  music  since  you 
went  away." 

Etta  got  up,  humming  a  tune ;  and  as  she  passed 
her  mother  the  latter  leaned  forward  and  whis 
pered  to  her,  "Tell  him  at  once  and  be  done  with 
it." 

So  instead  of  going  to  the  piano,  Etta  walked 
to  one  of  the  front  windows,  and  sat  down  in  a 
corner,  where  the  drooping  portiere  screened  her 
from  the  other  pair,  and  where  her  conversation 
need  not  be  overheard  unless  she  wished  it.  As 
she  sat  down  she  felt  that  her  nerve  was  again  de 
serting  her;  but  a  bold  inspiration  finding  birth 
within  her  almost  simultaneously,  seized  it  and 
held  it  in  check. 


FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS  133 

Seth  followed  her  wonderingly. 

"I  asked  for  some  music,  Etta?" 

"I  know  you  did,  impatient  boy!  You  shall 
have  it  presently.  Sit  down  here  first,'  and  pre 
pare  to  be  astounded." 

Seth  needed  no  second  invitation,  for  Etta  was 
seated  on  a  tiny  sofa  just  large  enough  to  hold 
two  and  not  an  inch  to  spare,  and  had — oh,  rare 
and  sweet  condescension ! — invited  him  to  take  his 
place  beside  her.  He  put  his  arm  lovingly  round 
the  back  of  the  sofa  on  Etta's  side,  and  his  fingers 
curled  round  the  bend.  Really!  It  was  almost 
like  hugging  Etta. 

"Well?"  he  asked  happily. 

"Well,"  she  returned,  without  preamble,  "Lord 
Kilburne  has  asked  Mommer  to  marry  him,  and 
she  has  accepted  him!" 

"Why,  I  never  thought  he'd  do  that!"  Seth 
blurted,  considerably  stunned  by  the  bald  an 
nouncement. 

"Nor  did  I.  Nor  did  Mommer.  But  it's  an 
accomplished  fact." 

"Upon  my  word!" 

"Yes,  it's  rather  startling,  isn't  it?  I  only  heard 
it  myself  an  hour  or  so  ago,  and  I  haven't  fully 
recovered  from  the  shock  yet!" 

"But,  Etta !  Lord  Kilburne  is  going  to  live — 
in  Ireland!" 

.      "Naturally.     Where  his  estates  are.     They  are 
to  be  married  very  shortly,  and  very  quietly;   and 


134  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

then  we're  all  going  to  Ireland  next  month — to 
live!" 

"We  are — ?"  he  gasped. 

"Yes,  we  are — and  to  live.    That's  all." 

She  felt  inclined  to  add,  "Steady" — for  the  sofa 
shook,  and  so  did  she,  with  the  rough  start  he 
gave. 

"Oh,  so  that's  all,  is  it?"  he  repeated  dazedly, 
but  he  looked  at  her  searchingly. 

"Yes,  that's  all.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  stare  at 
me  so,  Seth,  or  that  your  face  was  less  doughy- 
looking!  It's  not  cheering!  I'm  waiting  for  your 
congratulations." 

"Waiting  for  my  congratulations!" 

"Yes.  What  a  parrot  you  are!  waiting  for 
your  congratulations,  of  course!" 

A  recklessly  gay  and  mischievous  sprite  seemed 
to  have  taken  possession  of  Etta,  and,  under  its 
prompting,  her  eyes  twinkled,  her  color  rose  ever 
higher,  her  lips  smiled  more  and  more  merrily, 
and  her  voice  was  lightly  mocking.  Seth  studied 
her  in  deeply  pained  amazement. 

"I — I  don't  see  exactly  what  I  am  to  congratu 
late  you  upon,"  he  stammered  confusedly.  "I — 
I  didn't  think  you'd  be  glad — to  go !" 

"Why,  you  stupid  boy,  don't  you  see  that  it's  a 
fine  thing  to  be  a  countess,  a  great  honor? — and 
that  the  next  best  thing  is  to  have  one's  mother  a 
peeress  and  be  under  the  glamour  of  her  coronet?" 


FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS  135 

"Ah,  yes!  To  be  sure!"  He  spoke  like  one 
in  a  dream. 

"So  your  congratulations  are  due  to  the  three 
of  us,  Seth — to  the  happy  bridegroom,  to  the 
proud  bride,  and  to  the  lucky  daughter.  I'm  wait 
ing  for  mine,  and  then  I'll  lead  you  back  into  the 
other  room  and  you  can  do  your  duty  to  the  happy 
pair." 

Seth  ceased  to  stare  at  her:  he  rested  his  el 
bows  on  his  knees  and  let  his  head  drop  into  his 
hands,  and  not  a  word  said  he.  What  had  hap 
pened  to  Etta?  What  was  the  meaning  of  all 
this?  What  had  become  of  his  little  sweetheart? 
The  girl  beside  him  was  certainly  the  old  Etta,  of 
whom  he  was  impatient.  She  had  not  really  died 
then  in  giving  birth  to  that  serious  and  tender 
little  stranger  who  had  so  completely  captivated 
him  ?  No !  She  had  only  allowed  herself  to  be 
eclipsed  temporarily  by  that  new  pure  star,  and 
now  she  was  returning  the  compliment  with  a 
vengeance. 

"Well,  Seth?  Come!  Where's  your  imagina 
tion?  Think  of  the  distinguished  company,  the 
dresses  and  jewels  we  shall  enjoy!  Think  of  the 
presentations  at  court,  the  magnificent  balls,  con 
certs,  and  receptions!  Can't  you  picture  it  at  all? 
I  can,  I  assure  you — most  vividly!  And  so  I  am 
impatient  to  be  congratulated.  Wake  up!"  She 
tapped  him  smartly  on  the  shoulder. 


136  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her  wearily. 
His  aspect  was  singularly  haggard. 

"Do  these  things,  even  in  imagination,  com 
pletely  satisfy  your  soul,  Etta?" 

"Preacher!"  she  cried  jeeringly. 

"Do  they,  Etta?" 

"Well,  what  do  you  think?"  she  asked,  with  a 
little  moue. 

-"I  think  it  looks  like  it." 

"Does  it?     Good  then!" 

"And  now  I  do  congratulate  you,  Etta.  For  a 
soul  that  can  be  satisfied  materially  is  indeed  a  pos 
session  to  be  coveted." 

"I  think  so,  too,  Seth." 

"There'll  be  no  heartaches  in  store  for  you, 
Etta,  and  they  are  not  pleasant  things  to  have." 

"Charmed  then  to  know  that  I  shall  be  exempt." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  girl  grew  restless  and 
frightened,  and  relieved  the  tumult  within  her  by 
another  burst  of  words. 

"Seth!  Shan't  I  look  well  in  a  white  satin  gown 
tumbling  off  my  shoulders  and  trailing  for  yards 
behind  me  and  with  three  perpendicular  feathers 
and  a  streaming  veil  for  a  crown,  and  strings  of 
pearls  swinging  all  around  me,  and  glittering  stars 
and  crescents  and  birds  and  things  dabbled  all  over 
me?  Now,  shan't  I?" 

"Well,  tastes  differ,"  he  returned  absently. 
"It  sounds  to  me  like  the  picture  of  a  silly,  half- 
dressed,  bead-bedecked  savage." 


FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS  137 

"Oh!  does  it?  Well,  you  never  had  any  taste, 
Seth." 

"No,  I  suppose  not.  Well  I  may  as  well  con 
gratulate  the  others  now  and  depart." 

"Depart!  Why,  you've  only  just  come !"  She 
was  flurried  and  half  put  out  her  hand  to  hold 
him.  She  drew  it  back  instantly,  however,  and 
repeated  more  firmly,  "Nonsense!  You've  only 
just  come." 

"True!  But,  now  I  know  what's  going  to 
happen,  I  won't  intrude  any  longer,  nor  again. 
You  must  have  lots  of  preparations  to  make,  and 
you  haven't  so  much  time  that  you  can  afford  to 
chat  it  away  with  friends  who  won't  come  into 
your  aristocratic  future  at  all,  and  whom  you  need 
not,  therefore,  be  bothered  with.  Those  tumble- 
to-pieces  gowns  will  take  a  lot  of  thinking  out  and 
making." 

His  tone  was  bitterly  final,  and  he  rose  as  he 
ceased  speaking. 

Etta  laughed,  a  little  too  wildly,  as  she  sprang 
up  beside  him. 

"Why,  I  shan't  have  those  gowns  made  here, 
you  simpleton !"  There  she  cried.  "The  very 
idea  !  Oh,  Seth,  you'll  kill  me  !"  There  was  real 
agony  in  her  voice,  but  he  didn't  notice  it. 

"Won't  you?"  he  returned  stupidly.  "Well, 
at  any  rate,  you'll  have  lots  of  other  things  to  do. 
Good-bye." 

"Oh,   say  good-bye  when  youVe  finished  with 


138  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

the  others,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "Come  back  to 
me  here." 

He  turned  away  at  once  and  went  into  the  other 
room,  and  Etta  remained  standing  where  he  had 
left  her.  The  critical  moment  was  fast  approach 
ing,  and  her  self-possession  was  weakening  pro 
portionately.  She  heard,  as  in  a  far  distance,  the 
murmer  of  Seth's  congratulations  and  the  voices 
of  her  mother  and  Lord  Kilburne  in  reply.  She 
heard  faintly  their  hearty  "good-nights."  Her 
hot  cheeks  were  rapidly  cooling,  paling:  she 
rubbed  them  viciously,  but  they  seemed  to  grow 
steadily  colder  like  her  throbbing  heart.  She  gave 
herself  a  petulant  shake  in  order  to  drive  away  a 
growing  dizziness  and  a  blurredness  of  vision. 

Out  of  the  subdued  light  of  the  front  parlor  a 
dark  shadow  loomed,  and  stood  before  her:  she 
rubbed  her  eyes  and  drew  a  long  breath.  Seth 
had  come  back  to  say  good-bye;  and  Seth  was 
studying  her  critically,  struck  by  her  unusual  ap 
pearance. 

"What  are  you  staring  at?"  she  asked  irritably. 
"It's  such  a  rude  trick  of  yours!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was  only  wondering 
whether  anything  was  the  matter  with  you?" 

"No.  I've  only  been  over-excited,  and  it's  be 
ginning  to  tell  on  me,  that's  all." 

"Oh!  A  good  night  will  put  you  right  then. 
I  wish  you  pleasant  dreams,  if  it's  not  superfluous. 


FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS  139 

Good-bye.  I'm  real  glad  you're  so  happy,  Etta, 
only  I— I—" 

He  stopped  abruptly  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"I  thought  you  wanted  some  music,  Seth?" 

"Did  I?     I  believe  I  did." 

"Well,  let  me  play  for  you." 

"No,  no!  I'm  all  out  of  tune.  You  shall  not 
play  for  me — or  with  me — any  longer!  Good 
bye." 

"Good-bye !  Good-night  is  more  in  keeping 
with  the  circumstances,  isn't  it?" 

"No,  I  mean  good-bye." 

"Why,  shan't  we  see  you  as  usual?"  she  asked, 
still  ignoring  his  outstretched  hand. 

"No." 

"Perhaps — perhaps,  you'll  visit  us  on  the  other 
side,  Seth?" 

"Never!" 

"Do  you  really  mean  it?" 

"God  knows  I  do!" 

She  slipped  past  his  hand  and  nestled  clingingly 
against  him. 

"Then  don't  let  me  go !"  she  whispered,  with 
her  lips  against  his  ear. 

"Etta!" 

"Ah,  Seth,  don't  let  me  go!  Goosie,  do  you 
think  I  could  have  so  laughed,  and  talked,  and 
acted  to-night — if  I  had  not  meant  to  say  this  in 
the  end?  Don't  let  me  go,  don't  let  me  go!" 


140  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

There  was  a  breathless  pause,  and  then  Seth's 
voice  rang  out: 

"By  Heaven,  I  won't!" 

She  put  her  hand  over  his  mouth.  "Oh,  hush! 
There,  Seth!  If  you  squeeze  any  tighter  you'll 
break  every  bone  in  my  body.  And — and  don't 
kiss  me  any  more ! — they'll — they'll  hear  you !" 

"Oh,  Etta,  why  did  you  try  me  so?" 

"Well,  since  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  do  the 
proposing,  I  was  bound  to  take  something  out  of 
you  first  to  even  things  up.  My  pride  demanded 
it.  In  fact,  I  couldn't  have  managed  this  without 
it.  My  pride  had  locked  my  love  up,  you  see,  and 
had  thrown  away  the  key;  but  I  made  another  out 
of  Mummie's  coronet  and  those  teasing  words.  I 
might  have  failed  to  free  my  love  with  any  other 
materials.  So  don't  grudge  me  my  innings — 
you'll  have  it  all  your  own  way  from  now !" 

"My  little  queen!  I'm  only  the  meekest  and 
proudest  of  your  subjects." 

"There,  Seth!  Don't  begin  again.  I  hear 
them  moving  in  the  next  room.  Mommer's  going 
to  be  awfully  disappointed — she  hopes  to  make 
me  a  Lady  or  a  Countess,  or  a  Duchess  or  a 
Princess,  Seth!  She  doesn't  dream  that  they're 
nothing  in  the  scale  against  plain  Mrs,  S. 
Lomack — indeed,  it  is  quite  ridiculous  that  it 
should  be  so." 

"I  say,  sweetheart!     Let's  escape  all  the  argu- 


FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS  141 

ments  and  pow-wowing  by  getting  married  on  the 
quiet,  eh?" 

"Oh,  Seth,  I'd  like  to!  And,  after  all,  I  don't 
think  it  would  be  wrong — because  we  know 
Mummie  approved  of  you  for  me  before  this 
Peeress  business,  and  I  can't  see  how  the  Doc's 
succession  has  damaged  you,  can  you?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!  And  if  I  didn't  know  that 
Mrs.  Leon  approved  of  me  once,  and  that  I'm  no 
worse  since,  I  wouldn't  urge  you  to  the  step. 
What  now  stands  between  isn't  worthy  of  any  con 
sideration,  because  it's  all  pure  vanity!" 

"But  all  the  things  that  are  being  meanwhile  got 
ready  for  me,  Seth?" 

"They'll  do  for  your  trousseau,  darling.  The 
gowns  I  wouldn't  wish  my  little  wife  to  wear — the 
tumble-to-pieces  gowns,  you  know — were  to  be 
made  on  the  other  side,  I  think  I  understood?" 

"Yes." 

"So  we'll  just  slip  out  some  day  soon  and  be 
married,  and  then  we'll  come  back  and  break  it  to 
them  gently.  There  never  was  a  surer  way  of 
damping  a  threatening  and  irritating  explosion 
than  by  being  able  to  begin  with  the  simple  asser 
tion  that  it  isn't  of  the  slightest  use !" 

"I  say,  you  two!"  the  Doctor  here  sung  out. 
"What's  become  of  the  music?  And  what  was 
Seth  bawling  about  just  now?" 

"Etta's  now  going  to  begin,  sir,"  Seth  returned 


142  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

promptly,  and  they  both  flew  to  the  piano,  "and  I 
was  bawling  because — because  she  startled  me." 

Not  so  many  days  later,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seth 
Lomack  presented  themselves  in  their  new  dignity 
to  the  powers  that  were.  Standing  hand  in  hand, 
before  Lord  Kilburne  and  his  prospective  bride, 
they  acknowledged  their  marriage,  defended  each 
other,  and  appealed  to  be  forgiven  and  con 
gratulated.  It  was  impossible  not  to  forgive 
them,  they  were  so  young,  and  happy,  and  en 
gaging  ! 

The  first  shock  over,  Lord  Kilburne  burst  into 
hearty  laughter,  and  clapped  sly  Seth  upon  the 
shoulder,  and  heartily  embraced  the  wicked  little 
bride.  Mrs.  Leon  came  round  more  slowly;  she 
was  deeply  disappointed;  her  maternal  pride  had 
received  a  severe  blow.  But  by  degrees  Etta  and 
Seth  won  her  over;  and  Lord  Kilburne  reminded 
her,  as  a  finishing  touch,  that  there  was  always  the 
standing  law  of  compensation  to  comfort. 

"Think  how  much  younger  you'll  look,  mother, 
without  that  little  finished  coquette  beside  you!" 
he  cried. 

And  Mrs.  Leon  smiled  faintly,  and  protested  no 
further. 

It  was  agreed  that  Etta  should  remain  with  her 
mother  until  the  latter  sailed  as  the  Countess  Kil 
burne.  Both  Etta  and  Seth  wrote  to  tell  Ethel  of 
their  hurried  marriage,  and  the  reason  for  it ;  and, 
in  replying,  she  showed  her  quick  and  wide  sym- 


FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS  143 

pathy,  and  also  how  much  the  little  romance  had 
charmed  her.  She  was  equally  delighted  with  her 
step-mother's  brilliant  prospects,  and  her  congratu 
lations  to  Lord  Kilburne  and  his  bride-to-be  could 
not  have  been  more  sincere  or  hearty.  She  wrote 
to  all  four  now  freely  of  her  profession ;  and,  but 
for  the  circumstances  of  her  having  two  desperate 
cases  on  her  hands  at  the  time,  she  would  have  at 
tended  her  step-mother's  wedding.  These  four 
letters  were  sent  to  their  addresses  direct  from 
New  Orleans,  and  Ethel  also  wrote  at  the  same 
time  and  with  the  same  frankness  to  Addie.  So 
Henry  Law's  long  reign  of  tyranny  was  at  last 
over,  and  he  was  laughingly  forgiven  by  his  happy 
victims.  This  good  old  man  passed  to  his  rest 
during  Ethel's  second  year  as  M.  D. 

Etta  and  Seth  saw  Lord  Kilburne  and  Mrs. 
Leon  married  early  one  day,  and  then  this  small 
wedding  party  of  four  lunched  together,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  the  docks  and  on  board  the  big  steamer 
which  was  to  convey  the  bride  and  groom  to  Ire 
land.  Many  of  the  assembled  passengers  noticed 
Etta  admiringly,  and,  mistaking  her  for  a  passen 
ger,  looked  forward  to  making  her  acquaintance 
during  the  voyage.  They  did  not  notice  a  slight, 
fair  youth  in  her  neighborhood,  who  was  unobtru 
sive  with  the  calm  sense  of  possession — that  is  to 
say,  not  until  this  same  individual  led  her  away 
weeping,  and  she  grew  indistinct  to  them  among 
the  motley  crew  frantically  waving  their  pocket- 


144  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

handkerchiefs  from  the  end  of  the  pier — long 
after  distance  had  hopelessly  blurred  the  identity 
of  the  passengers. 

Etta  and  Seth  went  South  for  their  honeymoon, 
and  finished  up  at  New  Orleans,  of  course.  They 
managed  to  get  in  at  Mrs.  Rice's,  and  a  very 
blooming  Ethel  welcomed  them  jubilantly.  There 
was  no  taint  of  jealousy  to  mar  that  joyous  meet 
ing  :  all  three  were  so  honestly  and  obviously  satis 
fied.  Ethel  was  quite  proud  of  the  happy  mar 
riage  she  felt  she  had  brought  about,  Seth's  heart 
was  at  rest,  and  Etta  felt  grateful  all  round. 
Ethel  arranged  for  a  few  days'  holiday  in  honor 
of  the  visit,  and  many  a  jolly  outing  did  they  enjoy 
together  under  her  ciceronage. 

When  they  were  leaving  the  Crescent  City  Ethel 
informed  them,  as  she  was  seeing  them  off  at  the 
station,  that  her  ambition  was  not  yet  satisfied — 
the  successful  nurse  had  made  up  her  mind  to  study 
medicine. 

"Heavens,  Ethel!"  Etta  exclaimed,  "you  won't 
be  satisfied  until  you  murder  some  one. 

They  laughed,  and  Ethel  added : 

"No,  I  shan't  commit  murder — unless,  perhaps, 
Doc,  Dick,  and  Seth  fail  to  prove  exemplary  hus 
bands!" 

But  Seth  was  more  sympathetic  and  compli 
mentary. 

"Famous!"  he  cried.     "We  want  more  women- 


FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS  145 

doctors,  and  you're  just  the  cut  for  it,  and  there  are 
not  many  women  who  are." 

"Thank  you,  Seth." 

"But  are  you  going  to  study  here?"  Etta  asked. 
"Oh,  come  back  to  the  North  to  us!" 

"No,  sweetheart,  I'm  quite  wedded  to  New 
Orleans  now.  But,  unfortunately,  I  find  there  are 
no  medical  colleges  in  this  city  admitting  women 
students,  so  I  can't  study  here;  still,  I'll  study  as 
near  here  as  possible.  No  more  of  your  alter 
nately  bleak  and  roasting,  bustling  and  squeezed 
together  North  for  me." 

"Well,  I  am  sure,"  there's  a  durability  and  en 
terprise  about  us,  at  any  rate,  Ethel,  which  you 
lack  here!"  cried  Etta  indignantly.  Your  frame 
houses  with  their  separate  plots  may  be  roomy  and 
airy,  but  they  don't  look  as  if  they  would  stand 
much,  or  long;  and,  besides,  their  effectiveness  is 
considerably  marred  by  their  not  all  being  in  the 
same  state  of  repair.  The  whole  city  has  a  toy- 
like  appearance  to  me ;  rather  a  pretty  toy  at  times, 
but  badly  battered  at  frequent  intervals.  And  the 
mantle  of  indolence  which  envelops  you!  Ethel, 
you're  that  lazy  here!" 

"We're  always  warm  and  contented,  though," 
Ethel  smiled,  "and  we  get  there  comfortably  in  the 
end.  I  was  inclined  to  think  as  you  do  at  first, 
Ettie;  but  only  give  New  Orleans  a  fair  chance, 
and  she'll  win  you  in  the  end.  Now,  up  North, 


146  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

you  know,  you're  first  thoroughly  frozen  and  then 
thoroughly  baked,  and  you  break  your  necks  bust 
ling,  so  can't  enjoy  the  proceeds." 

"Traitor!" 

"Not  at  all,  I'm  simply  honest.  All  aboard? 
There !  I  must  go.  Mind  your  head,  Et,  when 
you  sit  up  in  the  lower  bunk,  or  you'll  knock  your 
brains  out.  I  nearly  did  coming  down.  Good 
old  Pullman !  just  a  couple  of  inches  more  would 
have  placed  him  beyond  criticism.  Good-by, 
Kitten." 

Etta  clung  to  this  big,  strong,  self-reliant  sister 
as  if  she  could  never  let  her  go;  and,  when  his 
turn  came,  Seth  kissed  her,  too,  for  the  first  and 
last  time  in  his  life. 

So  the  long  train  steamed  out  of  the  station, 
and  went  on  its  way.  Etta  gazed  out  of  the 
window  silently  at  the  funny  little  places  they 
passed  through,  and  smiled  now  and  then  at  the 
picturesque  groups  of  dilapidated-looking  but 
happy  darkies  who  crowded  about  the  train  at  the 
different  stations. 

An  ever  welcome  diversion  occurred  presently  in 
the  shape  of  an  official-looking  person  who  strutted 
through  the  car  with  this  warlike  cry,  "First  call 
to  breakfast!"  Seth  rose  at  once  and  made  Etta 
leave  her  green  velvet  seat,  and  they  followed  in 
the  wake  of  this  cry.  Sqeezing  through  the  nar 
row  passages,  and  hopping  from  one  car  to  an 
other,  cars  in  blue  and  cars  in  red,  they  at  length 


FURTHER  DEVELOPMENTS  147 

reached  the  dining-car,  with  its  two  rows  of  in 
viting  tables  for  two  and  four. 

"Ethel's  happy,  Seth,"  his  little  wife  remarked, 
as  they  appropriated  a  tiny  table  for  two,  and  the 
head  waiter  pompously  presented  her  a  menu 
framed  in  bright  metal  and  shaped  like  a  fan. 

"As  happy  as  a  queen,"  he  returned,  glancing  at 
the  smiling,  white-jacketed  negro,  who  was  inclin 
ing  his  ear  for  their  order.  "What  will  you  have, 
dear?" 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  MASTER  RIDDLE 

The  first  post  the  morning  after  Ethel  had  taken 
possession  of  the  gray  cottage  brought  Mrs.  Lith  a 
surprise  and  a  serious  shock.  The  surprise  came 
in  the  shape  of  a  fat-looking  registered  letter,  for 
registered  letters  were  not  common  events  in  Mrs. 
Lith's  life;  and  its  contents  constituted  the  serious 
shock.  These  were  twenty  dollars  in  notes 
wrapped  round  a  key,  which  Mrs.  Lith  instantly 
identified  as  the  key  of  the  gray  cottage,  and,  on 
further  investigation,  the  sturdy  envelope  yielded 
a  thin  slip  of  paper  on  which  was  written : 

"Dear  Madam:  The  cottage  has  served  my 
purpose  admirably,  and,  having  now  no  further  use 
for  it,  I  return  you  the  key  and  one  month's  rent 
($20)  in  forfeit  of  due  notice.  The  few  articles 
of  furniture  you  will  find  in  the  cottage,  please  dis 
pose  of  as  you  think  fit ;  I  shall  not  want  them  any 
more. 

"Thanking  you  sincerely  for  all  your  courtesy, 
"Faithfully  yours, 

"Ethel  Leon." 

Small  wonder  that  this  development  excited 
Mrs.  Lith's  consternation.  What  had  happened? 


A  MASTER  RIDDLE  149 

What  did  it  all  mean?  "The  cottage  had  served 
her  purpose  admirably."  What  purpose?  Per 
haps — only  too  likely — a  ghastly  one!  "She 
wouldn't  want  the  furniture  any  more."  Why? 
In  Heaven's  name?  Unless  she  was  done  with 
life  and  its  needs ! 

Mrs.  Lith's  ready  imagination  rose  to  higher 
and  higher  flights  the  more  she  speculated  on  the 
subject,  and  she  trembled  exceedingly.  The 
twenty  dollars  were  most  satisfactory  and  comfort 
ing,  still  they  could  not  calm  her  fears.  She  put 
them  away  carefully,  and,  hastily  swallowing  a 
little  breakfast,  she  confided  the  house  to  the  care 
of  her  daughter,  a  girl  of  fifteen,  and  departed  to 
consult  a  neighbor  and  crony.  Into  Mrs.  Elton's 
ears  timid  Mrs.  Lith  poured  the  whole  history  of 
the  mystery  which  was  appalling  her.  Mrs.  Elton 
followed  her  friend's  lead  with  avidity,  and 
made  much  of  the  material  on  hand;  indeed,  it 
was  impossible  to  deny  that  these  two  ladies  found 
a  certain  amount  of  pleasure  in  exaggerating  any 
little  excitement  which  served  to  break  the  placid 
monotony  of  their  lives.  It  was  promptly  agreed, 
in  this  instance,  that  they  should  at  once  proceed 
to  the  cottage  and  see  what  further  details  a  strict 
investigation  of  the  scene  of  the  mystery  would 
afford. 

Mrs.  Lith's  nervousness  increased  as  they  pro 
ceeded  thither,  and  reached  its  height  as  her  shak 
ing  hand  inserted  the  key  in  the  little  front  door. 


150  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

What  would  they  see  on  opening  it?  In  quick 
succession  her  overstrung  nerves  presented  to  her 
mental  vision  a  series  of  gruesome  pictures,  and 
the  sudden  wild  thought  that  the  police  might 
make  out  a  suspicious  case  against  her  and  hold 
her  responsible  struck  her  full  as  she  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock.  She  shrank  back  with  a  great 
gasp. 

"Oh,  I  hope  there's  nothing  wrong!"  she 
mumbled.  "Whatever  will  become  of  me  if  there 
is?" 

"Why,  what  have  you  to  do  with  it?"  retorted 
her  more  practical  friend.  "Nonsense!" 

"Well,"  shivered  Mrs.  Lith,  "It's  my  cottage, 
and — and  she  was  alone,  and — the  police  say  such 
awful  stupid  things!  They — they  might  say — 
oh,  I  don't  know  what!" 

Mrs.  Elton  laughed  contemptuously.  She  was 
one  of  those  lucky  beings  born  without  nerves,  or, 
more  properly,  without  any  consciousness  of  them; 
and  she  was  afflicted  with  a  stupendous  bump  of 
curiosity.  So  she  pushed  past  her  terrified  friend 
impatiently,  and  entered  the  cottage.  Rapidly  she 
peeped  into  all  the  rooms,  and  then  called  out 
cheerily : 

"She  ain't  here  at  any  rate,  Mrs.  Lith,  and 
there's  nothing  terrible  to  see.  So  come!  pull 
yourself  together,  and  let's  look  for  a  clue." 

But  there  was  no  clue  whatever,  although  the 
two  interested  searchers  worked  diligently,  thor- 


A  MASTER  RIDDLE 

oughly  and  systematically.  Three  of  the  tiny  fire 
places  presented  all  the  appearance  of  having  done 
duty  the  day  before ;  but  they  had  done  it  so  thor 
oughly,  evidently  under  strict  supervision,  that  the 
ashes  they  contained  were  not  to  be  identified  in 
their  original  form — at  least  not  by  the  two  ama 
teur  analysts. 

Reassured  on  the  subject  of  those  terrible  pic 
tures  with  which  her  uneasy  imagination  had  har 
assed  her  before  entering,  and  comforted  at  not 
finding  the  slightest  clue  which  conscience  would 
dictate  her  following  up  and  which  might  lead 
to  her  further  distress,  Mrs.  Lith,  with  a  gigantic 
sigh  of  relief,  turned  her  attention  approvingly  on 
the  articles  of  furniture  kindly  handed  over  to  her. 

"It  was  real  sweet  of  her,  anyway,  to  leave  me 
these  things,  now  wasn't  it?"  she  remarked  to  her 
friend,  as  she  passed  her  handerkerchief  over  the 
polished  top  of  the  table  with  an  air  of  proud 
proprietorship. 

"Y-es,"  returned  Mrs.  Elton,  with  disparaging 
envy.  "They're  pretty,  but  I  don't  think  there's 
much  wear  in  'em.  Maybe  I'm  mistaken,  though." 

When  Mrs.  Lith's  unexpected  windfall  had  been 
thoroughly  admired  and  appraised,  the  two  ladies 
prepared  to  depart. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 
queried  Mrs.  Elton,  as  they  wended  their  way 
homeward. 

"Well,"  retorted  the  landlady,  "I  don't  see  as 


152  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

it's  any  business  of  mine — but  it  looks  queer,  now 
don't  it?" 

"Yes,  it  looks  queer;  though  p'rhaps  there's 
nothing  in  it!" 

"Well,"  resumed  Mrs.  Lith,  "lest  there  may  be, 
I  think  I'll  just  let  her  friend,  Mrs.  Rice,  where 
she  came  to  me  from,  know  about  it,  and  ease  my 
conscience  of  the  responsibility.  I  must  contrive 
to  see  her  during  the  day.  Then  I'm  out  of  it; 
I  know  nothing  of  the  woman-doctor,  beyond  see 
ing  her  twice;  and  Mrs.  Rice  must  do  as  she 
thinks  best.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Yes;    it  seems  the  most  sensible  thing  to  do." 

So  the  friends  parted  amicably,  and  Mrs.  Lith, 
moist  and  short  of  breath  over  the  exertion,  called 
on  Mrs.  Rice  that  afternoon  and  favored  her  with 
a  detailed  account  of  Ethel's  mysterious  behavior. 

The  news  startled  and  distressed  Mrs.  Rice  ex 
ceedingly,  and  she  would  not  rest  until  she  had  sat 
isfied  herself  personally  that  the  cottage  held  no 
clue.  Satisfied  on  this  point,  Mrs.  Rice  cast  about 
in  her  mind  as  to  who  among  Ethel's  friends  would 
be  most  likely  in  a  position  to  throw  some  light 
on  the  matter,  and  immediately  decided  on  Nurse 
Kenworthy,  as  Ethel's  most  intimate  and  confi 
dential  associate.  It  was  then  getting  late,  how 
ever,  and  Mrs.  Rice  was  obliged  to  return  to  her 
boarding-house,  postponing  the  interview  with  the 
nurse  until  the  morrow.  So  she  took  leave  of  the 
obsequious  Mrs.  Lith,  promising  to  let  her  know 


A  MASTER  RIDDLE  153 

results,  and  went  away,  sustained  by  the  hope  that 
her  mail  might,  in  the  mean  time,  bring  her  some 
tidings. 

But  in  this  respect  the  postman  disappointed 
her,  and  her  subsequent  interview  with  Nurse 
Kenworthy  proved  futile.  The  latter  was  simply 
astounded  at  the  facts  disclosed  to  her,  and  could 
throw  no  ray  of  light  upon  them,  nor  make  any 
suggestion,  save  that  she  thought  it  would  be  wise 
to  consult  Ethel's  good  friend  and  patron,  Mr. 
Keystone,  as  the  fittest  person  to  advise  them  in 
their  bewilderment. 

Mrs.  Rice's  judgment  seconding  this  motion, 
Mr.  Keystone  was  consulted  forthwith.  He,  too, 
was  surprised  and  puzzled  at  the  riddle  put  before 
him,  as  was  only  natural ;  but  he  did  not  share  the 
ladies'  alarm.  His  advice  was: 

"Let's  wait  another  day  or  so  and  give  Dr. 
Leon  a  chance.  No  use  making  a  fuss  unless  it's 
absolutely  necessary,  and  there's  really  nothing  to 
encourage  any  unpleasant  ideas.  It's  my  belief 
she'll  solve  the  riddle  for  us  herself;  at  any  rate 
we  may  hear  from  her,  or  of  her,  in  a  day  or  two. 
If  we  don't  I  think  her  people  should  be  communi 
cated  with.  You  have  her  sister's  address  in 
Brooklyn,  haven't  you,  Mrs.  Rice?  Good!  It's 
their  place  to  set  detectives  on  her  track,  if  they 
think  it  needful;  we  have  no  right  to  interfere." 

Thus  it  was  left.  The  day  or  two  dragged 
slowly,  anxiously  by,  and  brought  no  tidings.  Then 


154  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

Mrs.  Seth  Lomack  was  written  to  for  information, 
the  whole  case  being  laid  bare  to  her,  and  she  was 
urgently  appealed  to  for  a  prompt  reply.  The 
answer  came  by  return  post — a  frightened,  hur 
ried  letter. 

Mrs.  Seth  Lomack  was  absolutely  ignorant  of 
her  sister's  whereabouts,  or  of  her  intentions — 
had  not  heard  from  her  for  many  months,  almost 
a  year.  The  correspondence  between  Ethel  and 
her  family  had  gradually  dwindled  as  they  be 
came  more  and  more  absorbed  in  their  individual 
pursuits,  to  a  yearly  report  that  all  was  well.  Mrs. 
Lomack  had  last  heard  from  her  sister  from  Mrs. 
Rice's,  when  there  had  been  no  suggestion  of  any 
change  or  dissatisfaction;  on  the  contrary,  her 
sister  had  then  reported  herself  as  well  and  happy, 
and  hopeful  of  the  future.  Mrs.  Lomack  and  her 
husband  did  not  like  the  looks  of  the  affair  at 
all, — it  had  seriously  grieved  and  alarmed  them, — 
and  they  intended  handing  it  over  at  once  to  the 
police. 

This  was  done  without  a  moment's  unnecessary 
delay.  No  expense  was  spared,  and  a  most  care 
ful  searching  investigation  immediately  ensued. 
But  it  elicited  nothing!  Inquiries  were  made  of 
Etta  as  to  Ethel's  pecuniary  affairs,  and  she  gave 
the  information  that  her  sister  had  a  small  for 
tune  invested  in  United  States  coupon  bonds.  It 
was  discovered  that  Ethel  had  had  a  box  at  the 
Orleania  Savings  Bank  and  Safe  Deposit  Co.,  but 


A  MASTER  RIDDLE  155 

had  relinquished  it  on  the  day  she  disappeared. 
What  she  had  done  with  her  securities  was  as  deep 
a  mystery  as  to  what  she  had  done  with  herself. 
For,  as  far  as  human  ingenuity  could  discern,  no 
such  person  as  Ethel  Leon  had  left  the  city,  and 
there  was  no  Ethel  Leon  in  it.  It  seemed  incred 
ible  that  she  could  have  vanished  so  mysteriously! 
— it  seemed  that  there  must  be  a  trace  of  her  some 
where!  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seth  Lomack  themselves 
came  South,  and  went  over  the  old  ground  la 
boriously.  Still,  nothing  came  of  it.  Mrs.  Rice 
repeated  again  and  again  her  interview  with  Ethel, 
when  the  latter  had  informed  her  of  her  contem 
plated  change,  and  spoke  of  Ethel's  evident  anxiety 
to  keep  all  her  friends  away  from  her  new  home 
until  she  was,  as  she  put  it,  "settled,"  and  of  how 
pale  and  grave  and  worried  the  Doctor  had  looked 
when  she  went  away.  Mrs.  Lith  retailed  as  fre 
quently  her  two  short  interviews  with  the  missing 
woman,  always  under  protest,  with  the  old  nervous 
dread  of  being  implicated  in  something  blood-curd 
ling;  and  exhibited  the  last  note,  which  was  read 
and  reread  hundreds  of  times.  The  boy  who  had 
delivered  Ethel's  purchases  was  nearly  driven  dis 
tracted  by  questions ;  but  all  he  could  say  was  that 
the  lady  had  looked  all  right  when  he  saw  her,  that 
she  had  taken  the  parcels  from  him  herself  at  the 
front  door,  and  that  he  did  not  see,  or  hear,  any 
one  else  about  the  place.  He  gave  the  time  of  de 
livering  the  packages  in  the  forenoon,  and  appar- 


156  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

ently  no  one  had  seen  her  since.  Nurse  Kenworthy 
and  Mr.  Keystone  helped  the  distracted  brother 
and  sister  valiantly,  and  ransacked  their  memories 
in  the  vain  hope  of  recalling  some  half-forgotten 
conversation  which  might  afford  a  clue. 

The  newspapers  had  taken  the  matter  up,  of 
course,  and  had  boomed  it  far  and  wide,  under 
huge  black  headlines.  Descriptions  of  the  missing 
woman  bristled  everywhere,  appeals  to  her  person 
ally  in  the  personal  column  of  the  "dailies"  unfail 
ingly  met  your  eye,  and  big  rewards  for  discovery 
or  clues  were  offered.  People  speculated,  theorized 
and  wrote  about  the  case ;  and  the  popular  opinion 
was  that  it  was  one  of  suicide.  The  insufficient  fur 
niture  of  the  cottage,  the  absence  of  provisions,  of 
help,  etc.,  all  pointed  to  this;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  suicide  could  not  do  away  with  her  own 
body,  and  why  should  any  one  else  hide  it?  And 
then  the  money?  It  was  suggested  that  she  had  se 
cretly  disposed  of  this,  and  then  consigned  her 
weary,  disappointed  body  to  the  deep  waters.  The 
ever-busy  detectives  followed  up  now  this  theory, 
now  that, — hiding,  kidnapping,  suicide,  murder, — 
they  ran  through  the  whole  gamut  and  sifted  each 
to  the  ground,  and  still,  for  all  their  endeavors, 
they  ended,  as  they  had  begun,  in  darkness. 

At  length  the  sad  facts  were  reluctantly  com 
municated  to  Mrs.  Dicky  Leigh  and  the  Countess 
of  Kilburne,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seth  Lomack  re 
turned  home. 


A  MASTER  RIDDLE  157 

"Oh,  Seth!"  sobbed  Etta,  as  the  train  was 
steaming  them  northward,  "do  you  think  any  harm 
has  come  to  Ethel?  I  feel  miserable  about  her! 
I  wish  I  had  written  to  her  oftener,  and  been  more 
sympathetic;  but  I  always  was  a  selfish,  self-cen 
tered  little  beast!  You  don't  think  she's  dead,  do 
you?" 

"No,  no!"  he  said  quickly,  shrinkingly.  And 
then  he  added  more  cheerfully,  manfully  trying  to 
stifle  his  secret,  gnawing  doubts. 

"Trust  me,  wifie,  we'll  hear  from  Ethel  some 
day." 

"Then  I  think  it's  a  wicked  shame  of  her!" 
cried  Etta,  with  all  her  old  impetuosity.  "A  cruel, 
wicked  shame !"  She  dried  her  eyes,  and  stamped 
her  foot.  "Yes,  of  all  the  crazy  things  she's  been 
guilty  of,  this  caps  the  climax !  I  hope  she'll  suffer 
for  it — there!" 

Her  husband  said  nothing. 

"Why  don't  you  speak,  Seth?"  she  went  on  ir 
ritably.  "It  is  a  shame  of  Ethel,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  he  stammered  slowly.  "I — I  suppose  it 
is." 

She  was  struck  by  his  voice  and  the  expression 
of  his  face  did  not  reassure  her  when  she  began  to 
analyze  it.  She  took  a  sudden  alarm. 

"Oh,  Seth!"  she  moaned,  in  quick  self-reproach, 
"you're  not  just  trying  to  cheat  me,  are  you?  You 
do  think  we  shall  hear  from  her  some  day?" 


158  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  repeated  patiently,  but  he  turned 
his  face  from  her  as  he  replied. 

It  was  what  he  had  said  on  taking  leave  of  the 
coadjutors  whom  he  had  left  behind  him,  still 
busily  working  over  the  now  forlorn  hope ;  but,  as 
far  as  the  wondering  citizens  of  the  Crescent  City 
were  concerned,  the  Fates  had  decreed  that  the 
mystery  of  the  gray  cottage  should  never  be  solved. 

Well,  time  went  on,  and  the  hopeless  search  for 
Dr.  Ethel  Leon  was  at  last  abandoned.  By  de 
grees  the  public  ceased  to  speculate  over  her 
strange  disappearance;  the  subject  no  longer  in 
terested  them  keenly — they  had  tired  of  it — worn 
it  threadbare — and,  by  and  bye,  the  remnants  of  it 
were  laid  aside  to  crumble  to  dust  in  oblivion. 

Time  went  further  on,  and  the  Countess  of  Kil- 
burne,  Mrs.  Dicky  Leigh,  and  Mrs.  Seth  Lomack 
grew  resigned  to  the  situation,  and  ceased  to 
trouble  over  it.  Time  went  yet  further  on,  and 
even  Lord  Kilburne  and  Seth  Lomack  forgot  to 
puzzle  over  their  strange  old  love  in  their  private 
moments  of  leisure.  The  mystery  gradually  fell 
in  the  dim  background  of  the  lives  of  those  it 
touched  most  nearly,  and  it  was  only  remembered 
fitfully  when  some  chance  word,  look,  or  action 
brought  the  lost  woman  mercilessly  back  to  them. 
And  then  the  white-robed  ghost  of  the  mystery 
would  dart  out  of  her  dim  and  musty  closet  in  that 
far  shadowy  background,  dazzling  them  with  the 
contrast  between  her  bright  spotlessness  and  the 


A  MASTER  RIDDLE  159 

dusty   lumber    of   the    past,    and    cry    exultantly: 
"Here  I  am!     Still  unsolved,  and  unsolvable!" 

Ten  years  passed,  and  the  gray  cottage  was  the 
center  of  a  thriving,  closely  built-up  section  of  the 
fair  Southern  city  of  New  Orleans.  It  had  changed 
hands,  and  its  individuality  was  lost  under  a  differ 
ent  shade  of  paint  and  a  commonplace  number; 
and  its  dignity  was  seriously  impaired  by  the  close 
encroachment  of  very  many  of  its  kind.  It  was  no 
longer  the  only  pebble  on  the  beach,  and  it  seemed 
to  have  a  spiteful,  shamefaced  consciousness  of  the 
fact;  for  it  had  turned  a  jaundiced  yellow,  and 
had  a  tired,  drooping  air.  Its  former  dainty 
spruceness  and  impressive  isolation  were  alike 
gone,  and  no  one  recognized  it  as  the  scene  of  the 
famous  disappearance  of  a  despondent  lady-doc 
tor — indeed,  few  remembered  the  circumstance. 
No.  39  Taoria  Street  meant  nothing  distinctive, 
had — alas  ! — nothing  distinctive  about  it.  True, 
its  walls  had  seen,  and  they  knew — they  must  al 
ways  know.  But,  bah!  what  of  that?  They  were 
the  safest  confidants  this  world  can  offer — they 
simply  could  not  tell ! 


CHAPTER   X 
SETH'S  MISSION 

At  the  close  of  those  ten  years  Etta  died.  Life 
had  treated  Etta  very,  very  kindly;  she  had 
laughed,  and  danced,  and  sung  her  way  merrily 
through  it,  with  the  sun  always  shining  upon  her, 
and  the  way  always  cleared  before  her  by  loving 
hands  that  asked  no  more  than  that  their  bruises 
and  scratches  should  be  hidden  from  her  gleesome 
eyes.  Time,  too,  had  dealt  most  tenderly  with 
her ;  the  Etta  of  thirty-seven  was  still  slight,  grace 
ful,  and  pretty,  and  had  retained  all  her  old  co 
quettish  manner  and  general  daintiness  as  easily 
and  as  naturally  as  she  had  kept  her  husband's  ad 
miration  and  love.  And  now  Death  generously 
followed  the  example  set  him  by  his  rivals,  though 
he  came  full  early:  he  kept  out  of  her  sight  and 
hearing;  he  touched  her,  when  the  appointed  time 
came,  suddenly  and  painlessly,  and  Etta  fell  into 
her  last  sleep  with  all  her  youthful  contours  un- 
marred,  with  her  dark,  silky  curls  caressing  her 
little  face  as  luxuriantly  and  as  winsomely  as  of 
yore,  with  the  old  bewitching  smile  stamped  upon 
her  lips. 

Seth  couldn't  feel  it  yet.  He  knew  that  he  was 
horribly,  irreparably  hurt;  but  it  had  been  done 


SETH'S  MISSION  161 

so  swiftly  and  unexpectedly  that  the  shock  had 
mercifully  stupefied  him,  and  the  wound  didn't 
smart  yet.  That  it  would  do  so  by  and  bye,  that 
from  that  same  quiescent  spot  would  gush  forth, 
in  his  life's  blood,  all  his  interests,  energies,  and 
ambition,  he  knew  very  well.  That  the  loss  would 
leave  him  the  most  pitiful  of  weaklings,  he  clearly 
foresaw.  That  those  dull  nerves  of  his  would 
sooner  or  later  throw  off  their  kind  lethargy  and 
awake,  and  writhe,  and  cry,  and  rack  him  body 
and  soul,  he  fully  realized.  He  even  asked  the 
doctor  how  long  he  thought  the  shock  would  shield 
him. 

He  had  known,  of  course,  that  Etta's  heart  was 
weak,  but  he  had  been  assured  that,  with  ordinary 
care,  the  trouble  would  not  grow  serious.  He  had 
taken  special  care,  yet — she  was  gone !  Some  new 
development  must  have  taken  place  recently,  giv 
ing  no  outward  sign.  For  Etta  had  not  been  at 
all  ailing — she  had  simply  spent  a  harassing  day, 
accomplishing  some  Christmas  shopping  in  New 
York,  struggling  through  rough,  motley  crowds 
from  one  huge  store  to  another,  and  feverishly 
trying  to  get  all  done  in  much  too  short  a  space  of 
time.  Her  husband  had  urged  her  to  take  some 
one  with  her  and  to  be  satisfied  to  take  it  "easily"; 
but  she  had  not  obeyed  him.  They  had  arranged 
to  go  away  on  the  morrow,  and  there  were  many 
things  to  be  done,  so  impatient  Etta  had  set  off 


1 62  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

by  herself  and  "hustled"  valiantly,  not  even  giving 
herself  time  for  lunch.  She  arrived  at  home  at 
the  end  of  the  long  day  utterly  exhausted.  Her 
husband  saw  it  as  soon  as  he  came  in,  and  re 
proached  her  bitterly;  and  she  had  crept  into  his 
arms  like  a  spoiled,  tired  child,  and  sealed  his  lips 
with  hers. 

He  liked  to  remember  how  passionately  he  had 
kissed  her  in  return,  and  how  the  pretty  color  had 
coursed  back  to  her  ashen  face,  under  his  gaze,  and 
she  had  looked  up  at  him,  half  laughing,  half  cry 
ing,  and  whispered: 

"I  don't  think  we  shall  ever  tire  of  each  other, 
do  you,  Seth?" 

And  he  had  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  carried 
her  to  the  sofa,  and  made  her  cosy  there  with  rug 
and  cushions,  and  sternly  forbade  her  to  move — 
he  would  bring  her  her  dinner.  And  Etta  had 
laughed  at  him  for  an  old  fidget,  and  made  faces 
at  him,  protesting  she  was  all  right,  only  naturally 
tired;  yet,  with  it  all,  she  had  submitted  to  his  min 
istrations  with  a  dreamy  sleepiness  that  was  not 
to  be  disguised.  She  had  sunk  back  among  the  soft 
cushions  with  a  sigh  of  relief  as  Seth  left  the  room 
to  fetch  her  first  a  glass  of  wine;  and,  on  his  re 
turn,  she  had  started  up  eagerly  to  take  it  from 
him.  But  before  her  outstretched  hand  touched 
the  glass,  and  while  she  was  still  smiling  up  at 
him,  she  gave  a  queer,  half-strangled  gasp  and 
fell  back  rigid.  The  doctor  was  at  once  sent  for, 


SETH'S  MISSION  163 

and  was  a  little  time  in  coming;  but  Seth's  alarm, 
as  he  applied  all  known  remedies,  did  not  go  be 
yond  an  obstinate  fainting  fit.  On  the  doctor's 
arrival  she  was,  after  a  brief  examination,  carried 
to  her  room  by  her  husband,  the  doctor  following. 
This  accomplished,  the  doctor  closed  the  door,  and 
gently  told  Seth  the  truth.  Seth  had  only  stared 
in  reply,  until  he  had  swayed  and  staggered,  and 
then  sat  down  like  one  felled. 

In  this  trance-like,  unfeeling  state  he  remained 
for  days.  Yet  he  hardly  left  Etta,  or  suffered  any 
one  to  do  anything  for  her  which  he  could  do  him 
self;  but  he  did  it  all  mechanically,  and  with  a 
mask-like  face.  He  even  put  Etta  into  her  coffin, 
and  went  to  her  funeral,  and  carefully  listened  to 
and  watched  the  whole  heart-breaking  scene  of  her 
burial  without  emerging  from  his  apathy.  It  was 
only  on  his  return  to  the  bereaved  home,  where  he 
would  go,  that  the  first  pangs  of  what  his  wound 
meant  to  him  were  felt.  The  stirring  began  while 
his  hand  was  yet  upon  the  door,  and  he  went 
straight  to  his  room — their  room — where  the 
wound  burst,  and  he  lay  prostrate  in  bleeding 
agony.  Etta  was  not  his  first  love,  but  she  was  his 
last,  and  he  had  made  her  his  wife.  Let  cynics  say 
what  they  please,  a  man  places  the  wife  who  has 
kept  her  vows  to  him  above  and  beyond  all  other 
women,  even  when  his  fancy  goes  astray.  Let  him 
be  what  he  may,  a  good  wife  stands  on  such  a  pin 
nacle  in  her  husband's  estimation  that  no  other 


164  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

woman  can  rival  her  in  the  highest  sense  of  the 
word,  whatever  she  may  do  in  the  lowest — she  can 
not  even  touch  her  to  degrade  or  tarnish  her,  for 
she  cannot  reach  her,  struggle  as  she  may.  It  is 
only  when  the  wife  steps  down  from  her  pedestal 
that  they  can  meet  on  equal  grounds. 

And  Seth's  fancy  had  never  strayed  from  the 
wilful  but  sterling  little  creature  he  had  made  his 
wife:  theirs  had  been  an  ideally  happy  marriage: 
they  had  sailed  their  fair  ship  harmoniously  over 
deep,  troubled,  and  smooth  waters,  and  now  it  lay 
wrecked  in  all  its  prime  and  promise,  because  one 
of  the  craftsmen  had  gone  to  her  long  rest  and  the 
other  had  forgotten  how  to  work  without  her. 
Poor  Seth !  He  and  Etta  belonged  to  that  rare 
and  lucky  order  of  humanity  that  never  seems  to 
grow  old.  He  was  in  many  respects  still  a  boy: 
his  impulses  were  boyish,  his  tastes  were  boyish, 
his  talk  was  boyish.  And  with  his  slight  build,  and 
ruddy  hair,  and  clean-shaven  face,  he  almost  still 
looked  a  boy.  Certainly  he  did  not  begin  to  look 
his  forty-five  years — not  even  now  when  his  face 
was  lined  and  careworn.  So  he  lay,  or  sat,  or 
paced  about  in  his  sore  desolation  and  feebleness, 
and  longed  for  his  mother  that  he  might  sob  out 
his  sorrow  on  her  breast  as  in  his  childhood  days : 
he  believed  it  would  relieve  and  calm  him  as 
nothing  else  could ;  but  that  dear  good  mother  had 
long  since  died,  and  he  tried  to  pacify  himself  with 
the  pretty  fancy  that  she  would  surely  meet  his 


SETH'S  MISSION  165 

timid  little  wife  at  the  gates  of  the  Strange  Land, 
and  mother  her  until  he  came. 

His  father  and  brother  could  do  nothing  with 
him ;  they  urged  him  to  go  away,  but  he  only  said, 
"Presently,  presently!"  and  remained  on  in  the 
gloom-stricken  house,  helplessly  trying  to  learn  to 
bear  his  loss  fittingly. 

Thus  he  fell  ill.  And  in  his  delirium  neither  his 
wife's  name  nor  the  mother  for  whom  he  had  been 
craving,  strange  to  say,  crossed  his  lips;  but  he 
raved  constantly  for  Ethel,  the  old  love  he  had 
almost  forgotten.  It  seemed  if  he  could  only  touch 
her  cool,  firm  hand,  he  would  be  quieted.  .  .  .if 
she  would  only  come  and  dress  his  gaping  wound, 
in  her  gentle,  capable,  masterful  way,  it  must  surely 
cease  its  smart  and  bleeding  and  begin  to  heal .... 
if  she  would  only  stay  by  him  and  let  his  weakness 
feed  upon  her  strength,  he  must  soon  mend.  He 
saw  her,  too,  in  a  hundred  different  ways  and  set 
tings,  and  always  stormed  at  her,  then  relentlessly 
for  her  cruel  abandonment  of  them  all.  Sometimes 
it  appeared  that  she  would  approach  him  and  will 
ingly  minister  to  his  needs,  but  he  would  repudiate 
her  aid  now,  and  bid  her  begone.  And  then  she 
would  vanish,  and  he  would  entreat  her  to  come 
back  to  him,  and  call  her,  "Ethel,  Ethel,  Ethel!" 
over  and  over  again  like  a  wailing  child,  and  never 
leave  off  calling  her  until  she  came — when  the 
whole  scene  would  be  repeated.  Somehow  his 
cruel  fancies  never  allowed  the  Dream-Ethel,  how- 


1 66  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

ever  eager,  to  soothe  and  serve  him:  he  was  al 
ways  angrily  rebellious  in  her  presence,  and  only 
pleadingly  submissive  when  she  was  gone.  It  is 
not  only  in  delirium  that  human  nature  is  thus  un 
reasonable  and  self-wounding. 

When  Seth  at  length  recovered  his  senses,  and, 
in  some  measure,  his  health  and  strength,  he  in 
vited  his  father  and  brother  one  evening  to  a  fam 
ily  council,  at  which  he  promised  to  unfold  his  now 
clearly  thought-out  and  firmly  settled  plans  for  the 
future.  They  obeyed  him  gladly,  for  the  subject 
had  long  troubled  them.  After  certain  prelimin 
aries,  Seth  made  his  announcement. 

"Well,  I've  decided  to  go  away,"  he  said.  "I 
may  travel,  but  I  don't  know.  I  mean,  however, 
to  set  off  as  quickly  as  I  can  manage  it." 

They  applauded  his  resolution  heartily. 

"I  only  regret  it  has  come  as  late  as  it  has,"  re 
marked  his  father.  "I  only  wish  you  had  set  off 
when  we  first  suggested  it  to  you.  It  might  have 
averted  this  breakdown." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  Seth  rejoined.  "At  any  rate, 
I  couldn't  have  gone  without  an  object.  I  detest 
aimless  wandering — always  did." 

"Well,  I  guess  the  same  object  that  does  now 
would  have  done  then,  my  boy,"  retorted  Lomack 
Senior.  "The  re-establishment  of  your  health." 

"Ah,  but  I'm  not  going  for  that,  sir!"  Seth 
cried,  sitting  up  impressively.  "My  health  doesn't 
interest  me  at  all  now,  except  that,  as  it  seems  I've 


SETH'S  MISSION  167 

got  to  live  yet  a  while,  I'd  sooner  be  feeling  fit 
than  rotten.  But  I  couldn't  go  out  of  my  way  just 
to  accomplish  this, — I  haven't  sufficient  will  and 
desire  over  it, — I'd  sooner  lie  here  and  rot  than 
make  any  effort  purely  for  myself." 

"A  very  pretty  confession,  indeed!"  sarcastically 
growled  the  sturdy  old  pater  familias  of  seventy. 
"It's  a  good  thing  for  you  then  that  you've  dis 
covered  an  object  worthy  of  a  little  spunk  that  the 
vital  question — your  health — may  get  a  few  sur 
reptitious  innings.  I  shall  be  interested  to  hear 
more  of  this  marvelous  object  presently.  Mean 
while,  I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Seth !  However,  set 
off  at  once  by  all  means,  and  take  a  good  long 
change;  and  then,  when  you  feel  quite  in  form 
again  and  inclined  to  tackle  business  once  more, 
come  back  to  us  and  show  us  how  to  do  it.  Dacre 
and  I  will  do  the  best  for  the  old  firm  while  you're 
lording  it,  my  boy;  and  we'll  try  to  have  every 
thing  ship-shape  for  your  return. 

"That's  just  it,  sir,"  broke  in  Seth  eagerly.  "I 
don't  want  to  come  back  to  business  at  all — I  want 
to  chuck  the  whole  thing  at  once  and  for  all.  You 
see,  I've  made  a  modest  pile — at  any  rate,  I've 
earned  enough  for  me  to  live  on  comfortably 
enough  for  the  rest  of  my  life ;  and — and  I've  been 
badly  hurt  too  late  in  the  day  for  me  to  feel  in 
clined  to  battle  on  with  the  world  just  for  the 
glory  of  it.  Glory's  all  right  when  there's  some 
one  else  to  hand  it  over  to,  or  hand  it  down  to ;  but 


1 68  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

it  doesn't  count  unless ....  and  I'm  out  of  that 
now.  There'd  have  to  be  the  real  need  to  spur  me 
on  to-day;  and,  as  I've  said,  it's  lacking." 

"You  surprise  me,  Seth!"  said  the  old  veteran 
reproachfully.  "Why,  you're  much  too  young  to 
cave  in  like  this.  I  thought — I  am  sure — there's 
more  grit  in  you." 

"And  what  on  earth  will  you  do  with  your 
time?"  amended  his  brother. 

"Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you !"  and  the  widower's 
sudden  air  of  alertness  astonished  them.  "I'm  go 
ing  to  find  Ethel — or,  if  not  find  her,  learn  what 
has  become  of  her." 

They  started,  and  stared  at  him  in  dismay.  Had 
his  trouble  and  illness  turned  his  brain?  No,  he 
looked  back  at  them  in  quiet  steadfastness  of  pur 
pose,  and  repeated  his  mission-to-be  with  quiet 
resolution. 

"A  dreary,  hopeless  task!"  the  old  man  at 
length  said.  "Why,  look  how  long  you  had  her 
searched  for  by  professionals,  and  on  the  spot, 
Seth,  and  at  the  time.  It's  now  more  than  ten 
years  since  she  disappeared.  A  dreary,  hopeless 
task!" 

"Yes.  But  I  mean  to  devote  my  whole  life  and 
all  my  energies  from  now  to  the  unravelling  of  the 
mystery,  father !  I  mean  to  search  for  her,  or  news 
of  her,  if  necessary,  in  every  land.  I  mean  to  go 
down  to  New  Orleans  as  the  starting-point,  and  be 
gin  there  to  probe,  and  gather  up,  and  piece  to- 


SETH'S  MISSION  169 

gether  every  scrap  of  evidence  concerning  her,  how 
ever  tiny  or  seemingly  irrelevant.  I  mean  to  fol 
low  the  trail  with  the  patience  and  care  and  fidel 
ity  of  a  searcher  whose  whole  aim  in  life  is  cen 
tered  in  the  hunt.  No  hound,  professional  or  other 
wise,  with  that  incentive  has  yet  been  on  her 
track — but,  please  God,  one  will  start  soon.  I 
mean  from  henceforward  to  work  at  the  search 
only,  to  think  of  it  only,  to  follow  it  only — from 
year  to  year,  from  place  to  place,  through  good 
or  ill  health,  through  all  weariness  of  the  spirit, 
through  all  discomfort  and  through  all  discourage 
ment.  .  .  .1  mean,  if  necessary,  to  die  doing  it!" 

The  braced-up  figure  and  brightened  face,  the 
earnest,  ringing  words,  the  expressively  raised 
hand  electrified  his  hearers.  The  three  men  silently 
read  each  other's  frank  countenances  as  the  mo 
ments  sped  on;  then  Seth,  his  sudden  animation 
deserting  him,  sank  back  wearily  in  his  chair,  and 
the  light  died  out  of  his  face. 

"Why — why,  I  didn't  know  Ethel  was  so  much 
to  you  as  all  that,  Seth!"  the  old  man  stammered, 
when  the  silence  grew  too  oppressive  to  be  further 
borne.  "I  thought,  like  the  rest  of  us,  that  you 
had  almost — forgive  me! — forgotten  her." 

"Well,  father,  I  don't  think  you  are  far  wrong, 
so  you  needn't  apologize.  I  believe  I  did  forget 
her.  .  .  .1  know  I  thought  I  had.  But  she  came 
back  to  me  in  my  illness" — he  sat  up  again  with  a 
return  of  his  former  fire — "in  all  her  old  original 


170  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

impressiveness,  in  all  her  old  all-swaying  power, 
in  all  her  old  irresistible  charm !  There  was  no 
one  I  wanted  then  like  Ethel,  no  one  who  could 
help  me  like  Ethel,  no  rousing  interest  left  me  but 
Ethel.  I  called  upon  her  and  saw  her  many,  many 
times,  I  know ;  for  I  often  came  to  my  senses  with 
her  name  upon  my  lips,  and  my  arms  outstretched 
to  seize  her.  You  must  have  known  it." 

They  nodded,  and  his  brother  added  gently, 

"But  you  were  delirious,  Seth!" 

"Yes;  and  so  far  I  have  remained  delirious,  and 
so  far  I  shall  remain  delirious." 

"It  is  a  sick  fancy,  my  boy,"  said  his  father. 

"But  I  am  not  a  sick  man  now,"  protested  Seth, 
"only  a  sorrowing  one.  I  want  occupation,  diver 
sion,  and  interest  to  bring  me  back  to  my  normal 
point;  and  I  tell  you,  as  a  man  who  is  old  enough 
to  understand  himself  thoroughly,  that  the  only 
incentive  in  the  world  which  can  rouse  me  to  the 
necessary  effort  now  is — Ethel!" 

There  seemed  to  be  no  answer  to  this,  yet  father 
and  brother  looked  at  him  inquiringly  and  he  re 
sponded  to  their  dumb  questioning. 

"I  have  said,"  he  resumed,  "that  Ethel  has 
come  back  to  me  with  all  her  old  force  and  irre- 
sitibility,  and  I  mean  every  word  of  it.  But  the 
character  of  her  charm  and  strengthening  influ 
ence  for  me  has  necessarily  changed  from  the  ro 
mantic  to  the  brotherly.  All  romance  for  me  now 
is  buried  forever  in  Etta's  grave.  You  both  know 


SETH'S  MISSION  171 

that  Ethel  was  once  the  first  woman  in  the  world 
for  me ....  then  Etta  came — and  made  her  sec 
ond.  .  .  .  Etta  came,  and  not  only  made  her  second, 
but  hushed  my  restless  thoughts  of  her  so  sound 
asleep  that  I  thought  I  had  forgotten!  Etta's 
gone  now ....  the  hushing  hand  is  removed .... 
and  my  former  feelings  for  Ethel  are  awake  once 
more  in  all  their  old-time  vigor.  But  for  the  sister 
Ethel  now,  you  understand  no  longer  the  potential 
wife.  I'd  like  to  follow  Etta  at  once,  if  I  could 
.  .  .  .but  I  can't.  .  .  .I've  got  to  go  on  existing  a 
bit  longer.  .  .  .and  Etta  out  of  my  life,  Ethel  be 
comes  again  its  dominant  note.  I  might  talk  to 
you  till  doomsday  without  making  you  realize  one 
tithe  of  my  longing  to  pour  out  my  woes  to  her  and 
let  her  comfort  me,  or  my  yearning  for  her  spir 
ited  companionship  to  help  me  on  my  bereaved 
way.  I'm  always  ready  to  help  her,  of  course .... 
but  she's  never  needed  it,  never  will  I  know.  .  .  . 
so  I'm  simply  going  to  ask  her  to  succor  me." 

"But,  Seth !"  faltered  the  old  man,  "suppose — 
suppose — " 

"That  she  isn't  living,  father?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I  want  to  know  how  she  died."  Seth's 
face  had  whitened  at  the  suggestion,  but  his  voice 
was  calm. 

"And  when  you  do  know?" 

"I'll  come  back  to  you." 

"And  should  you  find  her?" 


172  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"Forgive  me!  I  think  then  I  must  stay  by  her 
to  the  end." 

They  did  their  very  best  to  dissuade  him  from 
his  gloomy,  unpromising  quest,  but  it  was  quite 
useless.  Outside  the  sombre  house  Lomack, 
Senior,  and  Dacre  paused  and  looked  at  each  other. 

"That  Ethel  Leon,"  the  former  slowly  said, 
"was  a  strangely  interesting  woman,  Dacre — one  of 
those  rare  women  who  make  history  instead  of 
frivolity." 

"Yes,"  assented  the  son.  "I  always  had  an  odd 
sense  of  her  power  whenever  I  came  near  her." 

The  old  man  heaved  a  sigh,  and  descended  the 
stoop. 

"Do  you  think  she's  dead,  sir?"  Dacre  asked  as 
he  followed. 

"Oh,  undoubtedly." 

But » Seth  did  not.  He  went  down  to  New 
Orleans,  and  began  to  hunt  up  a  scent  quite  hope 
fully.  The  many  changes  the  eleven  years  had 
brought,  however,  were  undeniably  chilling  at  the 
outset:  he  did  not  begin  to  realize  how  long  ago 
it  had  happened,  what  ancient  history  it  was,  until 
he  tried  to  rake  the  mystery  up.  Seth  was  de 
pending  principally  on  the  reminiscences  of  those 
who  had  been  more  or  less  intimately  associated 
with  the  lost  woman  for  his  clue — and  Mrs.  Rice's 
establishment  had  been  handed  over  to  younger 
hands  some  time  ago,  and  Mrs.  Rice  herself  had 
gone  North,  they  were  not  quite  sure  where ;  Nurse 


SETH  S  MISSION  173 

Kenworthy  and  her  family  had  also  left  the  city 
some  years  ago,  and  had  gone  "somewhere"  out 
West;  Mrs.  Elton  and  Mrs.  Lith  had  "shuffled  off 
this  mortal  coil,"  and  the  latter's  daughter  had  mar 
ried  and  also  gone  away  "somewhere";  and  lastly, 
the  detective  who  had  organized  the  old  search  was 
now  an  imbecile  paralytic,  and  his  notes  of  the  case 
could  not  be  traced.  So  Seth  failed,  under  all  its 
disguises  and  the  numerous  outside  encroachments 
on  its  once  lonely  site,  even  to  establish  satisfactor 
ily  the  identity  of  the  gray  cottage.  Not  that  he 
had  hoped  anything  from  this,  but  it  added,  in  its 
way,  to  the  dreariness  of  the  prospect.  Only  the 
Keystones  remained,  and  Seth  made  much  of  them. 
They  had  never  been  to  the  gray  cottage,  and 
could  not  help  him  there;  but  they  went  over  as 
much  of  the  old  ground  with  him  as  they  could, 
in  all  patience  and  in  growing  interest.  Seth  felt 
intensely  grateful  to  them;  but  months  went  by 
and  still  he  had  laid  his  hand  on  nothing  to  be 
followed  up,  and  so  he  lingered  on. 

Calling  one  afternoon  at  the  Keystones,  Seth 
discovered  Baby  Keystone,  aged  five,  in  the  hall 
in  great  distress.  Before  the  maid,  after  whom 
Dannie  had  run  in  defiance,  could  sweep  the  cul 
prit  out  of  sight  and  announce  that  her  mistress 
was  indisposed,  Seth  collared  the  youngster  and 
insisted  on  his  confidence. 

Seth  was  very  fond  of  children  and  won  their 
confidence  easily.  The  story  now  unfolded  to  him 


174  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

was  to  the  effect  that  Mummie  had  promised  to 
take  him  to  see  some  juggling  that  afternoon,  but 
now  she  had  a  headache  and  couldn't  go,  and 
nurse  couldn't  be  spared.  Seth,  always  anxious 
to  show  his  regard  for  the  family,  thereupon  sent 
a  message  of  condolence  to  Mrs.  Keystone  and  a 
petition  to  be  allowed  the  pleasure  of  taking 
Dannie  to  the  show.  Mrs.  Keystone  was  reluc 
tant  to  impose  on  such  good-nature,  but  her  consent 
was  finally  extorted,  particulars  were  furnished, 
and  the  happy  pair  set  off,  hand  in  hand. 

In  the  first  part  of  the  programme  Monsieur 
le  Professeur  juggled,  and  Dannie  sat  enraptured ; 
in  the  second  part,  Madame,  his  wife,  went  into  a 
trance,  in  order  to  answer,  clairvoyantly,  any  ques 
tions  the  audience  might  be  pleased  to  put,  and 
Dannie's  interest  paled.  Nevertheless,  he  insisted 
on  his  host  and  himself  each  putting  a  question; 
and  he  handed  in  his  painfully  scrawled,  "How 
ol's  I?"  with  becoming  importance.  Seth,  obeying 
a  strange,  strong  impulse,  had  written,  rather 
shame-facedly,  the  one  question  now  absorbing 
him — "Where  is  Dr.  Ethel  Leon,  who  disappeared 
mysteriously  from  this  city  on  the  i  cth  of  Septem 
ber,  1 8—  ?", 

Dannie  now  watched  the  proceedings  on  the 
stage  with  tireless  vigilance,  and  his  question  was 
answered  first — he  clapped  his  chubby  hands  glee 
fully  over  the  amazing  truthfulness  of  the  reply. 
When  Seth's  turn  came,  in  spite  of  his  scepticism 


SETIl's  MISSION  175 

and  of  his  oft-boasted  contempt  for  what  he  termed 
"such  wretched  trickery,"  his  pulses  quickened. 
His  peculiar  answer  was — "Seek  her  in  the  sun 
shine  where  the  cabbage-palm  trees  grow."  Its 
vagueness  irritated  him,  and  then  he  laughed  at 
himself  for  inconsistently  attaching  any  importance 
to  it.  He  determined  to  dismiss  the  subject  from 
his  mind,  after  fictitiously  satisfying  Dannie's 
curiosity  over  it.  But  it  had  an  obstinacy  of  its 
own, — a  superior  obstinacy, — for  it  wouldn't  be 
dismissed.  That  strange  sentence  rang  in  his  ears 
morning,  noon,  and  night.  Like  an  importunate 
beggar,  it  followed  him  everywhere  in  a  whining 
monotone.  It  troubled  him  so  persistently  and 
deeply  that  at  last  he  found  the  courage  to  confide 
his  weakness  to  Mr.  Keystone.  The  latter  took 
it  humorously,  of  course. 

"Humbug!"  he  smiled.  "Sentimental  humbug! 
'Seek  her  in  the  sunshine  where  the  cabbage-palm 
trees  grow !'  Well,  it's  not  very  compromising 
to  Madame,  certainly — the  clever  jade!" 

"Where  do  the  cabbage-palm  trees  grow?" 
asked  Seth,  with  an  eagerness  he  entirely  failed  to 
conceal. 

"Why,  they  grow  in  the  West  Indies,  and  in 
several  parts  of  South  America — a  large  order, 
eh?" 

"Mr.  Keystone,  did  Ethel  speak  to  you  about 
either  of  those  places?" 

"Well,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  talked  to  her 


176  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

a  lot  about  the  West  Indies, — you  know  I  come 
from  there, — and  she  was  always  so  interested  to 
hear  about  them." 

"Ah!"  Seth  was  growing  queerly  excited.  He 
actually  said,  "Why  didn't  we  think  of  this 
before!" 

"But  just  reason  a  little,  Mr.  Lomack,"  urged 
his  host.  "I  think  you'll  agree  with  me  that  Dr. 
Leon's  first  idea  was  to  get  on  in  her  profession, 
wasn't  it  now?" 

"Yes." 

"And  if  she  went  away  at  all  she'd  go  to  some 
place  that  would  offer  her  a  better  chance  of  get 
ting  on  than  this  did — that's  a  fairly  reasonable 
supposition,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  the  West  Indies  wouldn't  offer  more 
scope  for  her,  they'd  offer  less — they're  about  twice 
as  conservative  as  this  is;  and  Dr.  Leon  would 
gather  that  naturally  in  her  talk  with  me.  She'd 
never  go  there — I  never  met  a  more  ambitious 
woman !  If  she's  living  you  may  take  my  word 
for  it  she's  doing  better  than  she  did  here — and 
that's  not  in  the  Carribean  Isles!  But  I  think — 
forgive  me ! — that  she's  dead,  or  some  of  you 
would  have  heard  from  her." 

Truly  it  seemed  like  it.  Seth  began  to  grow 
miserable  over  his  fruitless  efforts;  and,  in  spite 
of  all  reason,  the  clairvoyant's  advice  continued  to 
haunt  and  torment  him.  At  last  he  appeared  one 


SETH'S  MISSION  177 

evening  before  Mr.  Keystone,  flushed  and  trem 
bling. 

"I've  come  to  say  good-by,"  he  cried.  "I'm  not 
going  to  waste  any  more  time  here ....  I  am 
going,  folly  or  no  folly,  to  follow  up  the  single 
clue  this  place  has  given  me." 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean?"  gasped  his  host. 

"Why,  that  'there's  more  in  heaven  and  earth, 
Horatio,  than  is  dreamt  of  in  our  philosophy,'  as 
the  great  Will  cautioned  us  centuries  ago;  and  I'm 
going  to  seek  my  dear  old  sister — 'where  the  cab 
bage-palm  trees  grow!'  A  million  thanks,  good 
friend.  Good-by." 


12 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  GLEAM  OF  HOPE 

Seth  Lomack  sat  in  a  huge  cane  rocking-chair 
on  the  wide  veranda  of  his  hotel,  and,  like  all  good 
Americans,  rocked  himself  vigorously.  Before 
him,  at  no  great  distance,  lay  a  beautiful  sea  with 
the  sun  sparkling  upon  it,  a  sea  of  a  blueness  he  had 
only  before  seen  in  pictures.  The  sandy  beach 
was,  too,  of  quite  a  picturesque  whiteness,  vying 
with  the  foam  of  the  gently  in-breaking  waves.  At 
one  part  of  the  coast-line  before  him  a  handsome 
group  of  rocks  jutted  on  the  sea,  and  here  a  pleas 
ant  promenade  was  formed,  with  bandstand, 
benches,  and  a  shelter.  Seth  had  enjoyed  himself 
here  in  the  evenings,  particularly  on  band-nights, 
when  he  would  listen  to  the  happy  selections  of 
the  good  military  band,  as  he  sat  apart  from  the 
gay  assemblage,  in  a  secluded  nook  on  one  of  those 
over-hanging  rocks,  and  watched  the  spray  shoot 
up  all  about  him.  There  was  only  one  thing  that 
he  enjoyed  more,  and  that  was  his  dip  every  morn 
ing  in  that  same  mild  translucent  sea.  It  was 
quite  a  fascinating  feat,  after  his  awakening  cup 
of  coffee  at  5  a.  m.,  to  turn  out  and  walk  over  the 


A  GLEAM  OF  HOPE  179 

sea  on  a  narrow  bridge  about  fifty  feet  long,  at  the 
end  of  which  was  a  neat  bathing  house  with  steps 
leading  down  into  the  water.  Had  Seth  had  any 
experience  of  the  lake-bathing  in  the  South  of  his 
own  country  it  would  not  have  seemed  so  novel  to 
him;  but  he  only  knew  of  the  rough  surf-bathing 
from  the  beaches  of  the  North. 

He  now  looked  about  him,  at  the  rich  green 
foliage,  so  restful  to  the  eye;  at  the  many  and 
various  blossoms  forming  brilliant  patches  of  color; 
and  at  the  dazzling  white  coral  roads,  which  fairly 
made  him  wince.  Then  his  eyes  would  return 
faithfully  to  some  specimen  of  those  distinctive 
cabbage-palm  trees,  and  his  mind  would  resume  its 
speculations  on  the  matter  now  nearest  his  heart. 
And  while  he  was  doing  this  he  drew  in  the  soft 
sweet  air  in  deep  draughts,  and  reveled  in  the 
pretty  quietness  and  spotless  cleanliness  of  all 
about  him.  So  this  was  the  Tropics ! — an  ideal 
holiday  resort  certainly  for  a  dusty,  overstrained 
New  Yorker.  He  had  never  seen  a  bluer  sky  or  sea, 
or  greener  trees  and  shrubs,  or  brighter  flowers,  or 
whiter  roads,  or  less  smoke  and  dust,  or  more 
glorious  sunsets.  And,  in  all  his  life, — poor 
jostling,  metropolitan  specimen! — he  had  never 
breathed  such  pure  air.  He  had  come  direct  as 
far  as  the  most  windward  of  the  Caribbean  Isles, 
the  Island  of  Barbados,  determining  to  begin  his 
inquiries  there,  and  to  work  his  way  onward,  if 
necessary,  through  the  other  islands.  South 


l8o  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

America  could  come  later,  if  needful ;  but  there 
was  more  ground  to  work  on  here — for  Ethel  had 
expressed  an  interest  in  these  charming  islands, 
and,  what  is  more,  had  gained  some  information 
about  them.  Barbados,  too,  as  admittedly  the 
most  enterprising  of  the  group,  was  a  good  start 
ing-point.  So  here  Seth  was  comfortably  estab 
lished  at  the  best  hotel  "Little  England"  could 
offer  him.  He  worked  at  his  subtle  inquiries  in 
the  early  mornings  and  from  five  in  the  afternoons; 
but  during  the  fierce  heat  of  the  day  nothing  much 
could  be  done,  and  he  sat  on  that  delightful 
veranda  and  took  his  ease.  This  enforced  rest, 
amid  such  glorious  air  and  peaceful  surroundings, 
did  the  weary,  depressed  man  a  world  of  good :  he 
had  not  been  there  very  long  before  he  began  to 
look  like  one  rejuvenated.  He  was  there  osten 
sibly  for  his  health,  and  this  plea  enabled  him  to 
refuse  quite  naturally  to  join  the  friendly  guests 
at  the  hotel  in  their  various  forms  of  merrymak 
ing,  which  would  have  meant  the  absorption  of  far 
too  much  of  his  valuable  time. 

Sitting  in  the  veranda  thus  day  after  day,  with 
his  pipe  and  papers  and  ever-busy  thoughts  as  com 
panions,  Seth  observed  that,  regularly  every  morn 
ing  and  afternoon,  a  neat  buggy  was  driven  up  by 
a  slim  black  youth  in  livery,  from  which  descended 
a  spare,  smallish  man,  with  crimpy  grizzled  hair, 
a  clean-shaven  face,  much  lined  and  tanned,  and 
eyes  hidden  behind  a  pair  of  smoked  pince-nez. 


A  GLEAM  OF  HOPE  l8l 

This  man  was  always  sprucely  dressed,  and  had  an 
alert,  professional  air;  and  taking  all  the  circum 
stances  into  consideration,  the  most  likely  supposi 
tion  was  that  he  was  a  doctor.  But  supposi 
tion  was  not  good  enough.  It  was  Seth's  business 
now  to  find  out  who  everybody  was,  but  also  to 
do  so  without  exciting  unwelcome  curiosity  as  to  his 
motives;  so  he  let  this  dried  little  man  come  and 
go  a  few  times  before  he  made  any  attempt  to 
gather  his  name  and  calling.  The  man  always 
entered  the  hotel  briskly,  and  was  afterwards 
rapidly  driven  away.  And  at  the  solitary  indi 
vidual  on  the  veranda,  furtively  watching  him, 
with  his  Panama  hat  tipped  over  his  nose,  the  doc 
tor — if  such  he  were — hardly  glanced.  It  was 
usual  for  Seth  to  have  the  veranda  pretty  well  to 
himself  during  the  day;  for  the  other  guests  of 
leisure  were  principally  ladies,  who  shrank  from 
risking  their  complexions  in  the  merciless  glare, 
and  the  men  were  off  at  their  various  pursuits.  So 
Seth  sat,  and  looked,  and  noted,  all  alone  in  his 
glory. 

At  last  one  afternoon,  immediately  after  the 
master  had  entered  the  hotel,  Seth  leisurely  rose, 
stretched  himself,  and  lounged  over  to  where  the 
buggy  stood,  and  entered  into  a  casual  conversa 
tion  with  the  servant.  The  horse  offered  a  good 
pretext :  Seth  was  fond  of  horses,  and  knew  some 
thing  about  them,  too ;  and  the  bay  cob  before  him 


1 82  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

was  a  very  fair  specimen.     He  looked  him  over 
with  natural  interest. 

"A  very  pretty  animal  that,"  he  observed  to  the 
good-natured  looking  custodian,  "and  well  kept 
too.  I  am  fond  of  horses." 

"Yes,  sah,"  responded  the  pleased  youth,  with 
the  usual  wide  grin,  and  touching  his  hat.  "Massa' 
mighty  'ticular  'bout  him." 

"And  you  have  charge  of  him  entirely?" 

"Yes,  sah." 

"Well,  he  does  you  credit." 

"Thank  'ee,  sah." 

"He'd  make  a  good  saddle-horse,  I  should 
think,"  Seth  pursued,  as  he  again  ran  the  animal's 
good  points  over  with  his  eye.  "Capital." 

"Yes,  sah.  But  Massa'  doan  ride,  him  always 
drives." 

Seth  began  to  curse  the  vagueness  of  'Massa', 'as 
the  minutes  flew  on. 

"Well,  driving's  pleasanter  than  riding  if  you've 
got  to  turn  out  in  the  heat  of  the  day,"  he  con 
tinued  desperately,  "but  at  no  other  time,  I  think." 

The  negro  assented  as  before. 

"Massa'  heap  of  patients,"  he  afterward  added 
in  explanatio'n  and  defence.  "Him  very  busy  all 
day,  sah." 

"Ah!"  One  of  Seth's  points  was  at  last  gained, 
without  the  always-to-be-avoided  if  possible  direct 
inquiry,  which  might  excite  comment  and  possibly 


A  GLEAM  OF  HOPE  183 

arouse  suspicion.  "A  doctor  then,  I  suppose?" 
he  remarked  carelessly. 

"Yes,  sah." 

"I  didn't  know  we  had  any  one  sick  here,"  was 
Seth's  next  most  natural  comment,  as  his  curiosity 
flew  from  the  frankly  avowed  doctor  to  the  un 
known  patient. 

But  the  darky  couldn't  satisfy  him  here. 

"I  dunno  who  'tis,  sah,"  he  returned.  "Massa' 
nebber  talk  'bout  his  patients." 

"No,  of  course  not!"  Seth  smiled.  "No  doctor 
worthy  of  the  name  ever  does."  And  feeling  that 
he  had  said  enough  for  the  present,  he  turned  away 
with  a  pleasant  nod. 

The  Doctor  shortly  afterward  appeared,  and 
was  driven  off  as  usual. 

The  next  day,  Seth,  in  a  casual  chat  with  one  of 
the  clerks  of  the  hotel,  idly  inquired  who  the  in 
valid  was. 

"A  lady  from  New  York,"  he  was  informed, 
"who  had  not  been  there  very  long.  She  was  alone 
and  dangerously  ill,  but  everything  possible  was 
being  done  for  her." 

With  his  now  restless  spirit  to  sift  everything 
which  obtruded  itself  on  his  notice  to  the  ground, 
Seth  pursued  as  cautiously  as  possible : 

"I  am  a  New  Yorker,  you  know,  and  I  have  a 
wide  acquaintance  there.  Perhaps  I  know  this 
lady,  and  may  be  of  some  assistance  to  her  as  you 
say  she  is  alone.  What  is  her  name?" 


184  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"Miss  Jones;  I  expect  you  know  more  than  one, 
sir." 

"Yes,  I  do."  But  Seth's  curiosity  was  not  satis 
fied,  for  "Miss  Jones,"  was  unquestionably  a  con 
venient  pseudonym,  as  well  as  an  honest  patrony 
mic,  so  he  felt  compelled  to  go  on.  "Of  course  I 
know  several,"  he  repeated.  "But  perhaps  a  per 
sonal  description  would  enable  me  to  identify  a 
friend  in  need.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  what 
she  is  like?" 

"Well,  I'm  a  bad  hand  at  description,  sir,  but 
I'll  do  my  best  with  pleasure.  She's  tall,  and 
slight,  and  dark,  and  she  has  a  lot  of  straight  black 
hair,  turning  very  gray.  I  should  say  she  was 
somewhere  round  fifty;  and  she  has  remarkably 
fine  dark  eyes." 

The  description  was  too  general  to  be  distinctive, 
still  its  generalities  tallied  with  Seth's  ever  present 
idea  of  Ethel  as  she  now  must  be.  His  interest 
deepened  immediately. 

"I  believe  I  know  the  lady,"  he  ventured  boldly. 
"Can  you  tell  me  her  Christian  name?" 

"No,  sir.  The  initial  is  'E'  though.  Miss  E. 
Jones  she  signed." 

Another  little  point  which  fitted  in.  Seth  felt, 
poor  hungry  hunter,  quite  triumphant  over  it. 

"I  wish  I  could  see  her!"  he  ejaculated.  "The 
initial  is  all  right." 

"It's  impossible  for  you  to  see  her,  I  think,"  re 
turned  the  clerk,  "but  the  doctor  will  be  the  best 


A  GLEAM  OF  HOPE  185 

person  for  you  to  consult.  From  all  accounts,  I 
am  afraid,  poor  woman,  that  you  won't  be  able 
to  see  her  for  some  time.  Even  when  she  was 
about,  she  seemed  to  shun  people,  and  creep  away 
somewhere  by  herself;  and  she  evaded  question 
ing  with  the  skill  of  a  lawyer:  I  never  met  any 
one  more  reserved  and  retiring.  We  all  say 
there's  a  mystery  about  her." 

Further  confirmation.  Seth  began  to  feel  quite 
flustered  over  it.  Had  he  been  searching  round 
the  island  with  the  lost  woman  all  the  while  under 
the  same  roof  with  him?  Was  this  another  of 
life's  queer  little  ironies?  Was  the  work  to  which 
he  had  dedicated  his  whole  life  really  going  to 
prove  to  be  over  before  it  had  fairly  begun?  With 
these  questions  careering  wildly  through  his  brain, 
Seth  asked  eagerly  whether  the  lady  had  all  she 
wanted. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir.  Seems  to  be  no  lack  of  money, 
and  she  couldn't  be  in  better  hands." 

"May  I  ask  what  is  the  matter  with  her?" 

"Fever,"  vaguely  returned  the  clerk.  And  im 
mediately  added,  "Excuse  me,  sir!"  and  turned  to 
attend  to  another  importunate  guest  who  had  just 
come  up. 

Seth  went  out  on  the  veranda,  and  sat  down  to 
think  it  all  over  as  calmly  as  he  could.  Ethel 
would  have  no  need  of  money,  too !  It  was  pass 
ing  strange — still,  taken  practically,  what  did  it 
amount  to?  Nothing,  less  than  nothing!  He 


1 86  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

had  not  gleaned  a  single  positive  fact  to  support 
his  feverish  conjecture — only  details,  which,  if  they 
applied  to  Ethel,  applied  as  well  to  hundreds  and 
thousands  of  other  women.  And  yet  his  excite 
ment  in  the  matter  would  not  cool.  He  awaited 
the  arrival  of  the  Doctor  with  furious  impatience, 
and,  when  the  buggy  drove  up,  he  thrilled  from 
head  to  foot.  His  impatience  would  have  ques 
tioned  the  Doctor  on  the  spot,  but  before  he  could 
pull  himself  together  the  quick  little  man  had  en 
tered  the  house.  Seth  rose,  and  pending  the  Doc 
tor's  return  paced  the  veranda  with  beating  pulses 
and  an  introspective  mind.  He  had  no  thought 
for  his  former  friend,  the  slim,  black  coachman — 
•  he  never  even  glanced  at  him.  William  looked  at 
him  wistfully  several  times,  for  the  blacks  are  of 
a  sociable  nature  and  take  a  childish  pleasure  in 
being  noticed;  but  the  "nice  gen'lman"  was  plainly 
out  of  sorts  this  morning,  so  William  had  to  content 
himself  with  silently  ruminating  on  the  cause  of 
the  trouble. 

Presently  the  Doctor's  crisp  footsteps  were  heard 
approaching  along  the  uncarpeted  floors.  Seth 
happened  to  be  at  the  far  end  of  the  veranda  as 
these  same  footsteps  grew  more  and  more  distinct 
and  passed  over  the  threshold  of  the  door,  but  he 
dashed  forward  as  the  Doctor  came  out,  and  laid 
a  firmly  detaining  hand  on  his  arm.  The  Doctor 
had  come  out  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  him, 
his  head  bent,  his  eyes  downcast — plainly  deep  in 


A  GLEAM  OF  HOPE  187 

thought,  although  this  did  not  affect  his  naturally 
quick  progress.  He  started  violently  at  Seth's 
sudden  onslaught,  and,  raising  his  head  sharply, 
met  Seth's  pleading  eyes.  There  was  an  instan 
taneous  pause  on  the  Doctor's  part,  while  Seth 
stammered  incoherently : 

"I'm  not  ill,  Doctor.  .  .  .but  can  you — will 
you — grant  me  a  few  moments'  conversation?  I — 
I  should  be  so  much  obliged." 

The  startled  Doctor  threw  him  off  roughly,  with 
a  muttered: 

"Sorry!  I  haven't  a  moment  to  spare,"  and 
shot  forward  into  the  buggy.  "Home,  William !" 
he  cried  peremptorilly,  and  was  instantly  obeyed. 

The  generous  darky  cast  a  compassionate  look 
at  his  fickle  friend  as  they  trotted  away.  Seth, 
after  his  severe  rebuff,  had  walked  off  proudly  a 
few  paces,  and  was  now  leaning  on  the  railing  of 
the  veranda  with  a  dejection  which  no  pride  could 
disguise,  and  gazing  hopelessly  after  the  rude  doc 
tor.  He  felt  the  repulse  most  keenly,  and  the 
doctor's  discourtesy  had  aroused  all  his  pride; 
nevertheless,  he  did  not  intend  to  allow  that 
troublesome  characteristic  to  master  him  in  his 
quest.  True,  he  had  gone  about  his  object  with 
clumsy  haste,  he  was  quite  conscious  of  this — but 
that  fact,  to  him,  did  not  justify,  could  not  excuse 
the  doctor's  behavior. 

"I'll  get  what  I  want  out  of  that  little  cad,"  he 


1 88  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

muttered  vindictively,  as  he  strolled  back  to  his 
chair,  "and  then  I'll  wring  his  neck." 

But  human  nature  is  not  to  be  driven;  Seth 
watched  the  return  of  the  Doctor  that  same  after 
noon  from  his  usual  seat,  and  he  did  not  stir.  He 
told  himself  that  he  meant  to  waylay  him  again  on 
his  way  out,  but  he  listened  to  his  returning  foot 
steps  without  moving,  without  even  raising  his 
eyes.  It  was  only  when  he  failed  to  hear  the  ex 
pected  crunching  of  the  buggy  wheels  as  it  should 
nave  driven  off  that  he  looked  up  inquiringly.  The 
buggy  still  stood  before  the  steps,  and  the  Doctor 
had  come  to  a  halt  half-way  between  the  door  and 
it,  and  was  looking  at  him  hesitatingly.  Seth  in 
stantly  lowered  his  eyes  and  took  up  a  paper.  But 
his  heart-beats  quickened  in  glad  triumph  when  he 
heard  the  undaunted  Doctor  approaching  him.  He 
raised  his  head  and  glared  at  the  Doctor's  smoky 
pince-nez  in  uncompromising  sternness. 

"I  have  come  to  apologize,  sir."  the  doctor  said 
with  unruffled  ease,  "for  my  exceeding  rudeness  to 
you  this  morning.  I  can  only  urge  for  myself  that 
the  excuse  I  made  was  an  honest  one,  that  I  was 
at  the  moment  much  preoccupied  and  worried. 
We  doctors  are  not  supposed  to  have  any  nerves, 
but,  believe  me,  they  trouble  us  at  times  tremend 
ously.  Now,  I  trust  I  am  understood,  sir,  and 
acquitted  of  any  intention  to  offend,  eh?" 

He  held  out  his  hand.  Seth  took  it.  The  man 
had  completely  won  him  over,  had  interested  him 


A  GLEAM  OF  HOPE  189 

at  once.  This  unattractive  looking  and  offending 
little  man  was  really  rather  fascinating !  The  only 
thing  about  the  Doctor  which  now  grated  on  Seth 
was  his  voice:  he  spoke  very  drawlingly,  with  a 
strong  West  Indian  intonation. 

"May  I  now  hope  to  hear,"  he  resumed,  sinking 
into  a  chair  beside  Seth,  "what  I  can  do  for  you, 
sir?" 

"Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  can  now  spare  the 
time  comfortably,  Doctor?"  Seth  returned  "I 
don't  want  to  take  advantage  of  your — your — " 

"Remorse,"  suggested  the  Doctor,  with  a  hu 
morous  quiver  of  the  lips. 

"Say  rather  good-nature,"  Seth  amended  smil 
ingly. 

The  methodical  Doctor  drew  out  his  watch  and 
looked  at  it. 

"I  can  give  you,"  he  said,  as  he  returned  it  to 
his  pocket,  " — for  the  present,  that  is, — fifteen 
minutes." 

"Many  thanks." 

So  Seth  unfolded  his  tale — the  same  with  which 
he  had  bored  the  civil,  harassed  clerk.  He  had 
learned  from  questioning  the  clerk,  he  admitted, 
that  the  Doctor  had  a  lady  patient  in  the  hotel  of 
the  name  of  Jones;  he  believed  from  the  particu 
lars  he  had  gathered  that  he  knew  this  Miss 
Jones — that  she  was,  in  fact,  a  friend  as  well  as  a 
countrywoman  of  his,  he  would  very  much  like  to 
see  her — to  assist  her  in  any  way  he  could,  or,  if 


190  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

this  was  not  called  for,  just  to  give  her  the  assur 
ance  of  his  good  will.  Would  the  Doctor  kindly 
help  him  to  identify  a  lonely,  suffering  friend? 

The  Doctor  listened  patiently,  and  he  replied 
promptly,  and  to  the  point. 

"My  patient,  I  regret  to  say,  sir,  is  very  ill 
indeed — a  bad  case  of  typhoid  fever.  The  crisis 
is  rapidly  approaching,  and  it  is  impossible  to  say 
positively  yet  what  the  outcome  will  be.  I  am 
hopeful — but  she  is  very,  very  weak,  and  fre 
quently  delirious.  I  am  sorry,  but  your  seeing  her 
is  quite  out  of  the  question — quite!  Also  I  can 
not  undertake  to  question  her  on  the  matter,  or  to 
allow  any  one  else  to  question  her — she  is  not  fit 
for  it.  She  must  be  kept  as  quiet  as  possible — it 
is  not  too  much  to  say  that  her  very  life  depends 
on  this.  I  regret  that  I  cannot  help  you,  sir — but 
surely  you  see  how  it  is?" 

Seth  nodded  miserably.  He  tried  to  bear 
unflinchingly  the  disappointment  and  additional 
anxiety  the  Doctor's  reply  brought  him,  but  it 
was  but  a  sorry  effort. 

"When.  .  .  .if  she  should  improve,  Doctor,"  he 
stammered,  "will  you  assist  me  then?" 

The  Doctor  paused  before  he  gave  his  reply; 
he  appeared  to  be  sympathetically  touched  by 
Seth's  concern.  Looking  straight  before  him,  he 
said  very  gently : 

"Again  I  am  sorry,  sir,  but  I  have  no  alternative 
but  to  refuse  you.  You  see,  even  in  health,  the 


A  GLEAM  OF  HOPE  191 

lady  evidently  had  her  own  reasons  for  desiring 
seclusion;  and,  as  she  is  not  in  any  need  of  assis 
tance,  I  don't  feel  justified  in  taking  advantage  of 
her  present  weakness  and  my  confidential  position 
as  her  medical  adviser  to  storm  her  privacy." 

Seth  stared  at  him  in  crushed  silence. 

"To  storm  her  privacy,"  the  Doctor  repeated, 
enforcing  his  point  and  filling  up  the  pause,  "on  a 
mere  plea  of  a — of  a — friend." 

He  turned  his  eyes  keenly  on  Seth  as  he  finished, 
and  Seth  took  a  sudden  resolution;  he  would  tell 
this  man  the  truth — the  truth  would  make  the 
Doctor  view  the  matter  in  a  different  light,  and, 
doubtless  secure  his  help.  The  truth,  therefore,  he 
should  have. 

"That  is  all,  I  suppose,  sir,"  said  the  Doctor, 
rising,  "and  my  time  is  running  out.  Pray  believe 
that  I  am  sincerely  sorry  that  it  is  impossible  for 
me  to  meet  your  views.  But,  with  all  my  good 
will,  my  hands  are  tied,  you  see;  my  hands  are 
tied !  Good-morning." 

Seth  roused  himself,  sprang  up,  and  seized  the 
Doctor's  extended  hand. 

"No,  it's  not  all,  Doctor!"  he  cried  in  subdued 
excitement.  "Believe  me,  by  no  means  all!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  Doctor,  with 
frowning  scrutiny,  as  he  freed  his  hand  from  Seth's 
close  grasp. 

"I  mean  that,  so  far,  I  have  appealed  to  you 
with  a  strong  reservation,"  Seth  went  on  earnestly, 


192  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"and  now  I  want  to  appeal  to  you,  with  no  reserva 
tion  at  all!"  He  produced  his  card-case,  and 
offered  the  Doctor  a  card  from  it.  Here's  my 
card,  Doctor — when  can  I  see  and  talk  to  you 
again  of  this?  Pray  let  it  be  soon." 

The  Doctor  took  the  card  with  a  word  of 
thanks,  glancing  at  it,  and  drawing  out  a  capacious 
pocket-book  from  the  inner  pocket  of  his  frock- 
coat,  put  it  away.  Before  replacing  the  book  he 
abstracted  from  it  one  of  his  own  cards,  and,  with 
this  in  his  hand,  he  turned  again  to  Seth. 

"Perhaps  you  will  do  me  the  honor  of  coming 
to  my  place  to  dinner  to-morrow  evening  at  5.30," 
he  remarked  cordially.  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  ar 
range  an  earlier  time.  We  can  then,  however, — 
subject  to  calls  of  course, — talk  all  the  evening — 
far  into  the  night,  if  you  like.  Will  you  come, 
Mr.  Lomack. 

"With  great  pleasure.  You  are  very,  very 
good,  Doctor,  and  I  feel  deeply  indebted  to  you. 
I  am  aware  that  I  have  gone  about  this  affair  after 
the  manner  of  the  proverbial  bull  in  a  china  shop, 
but,  when  a  matter  presses  painfully  upon  your 
heart,  your  impatience  for  relief  numbs  your  sense 
of  tact.  You  understand  and  excuse  me,  I  hope?" 

"Quite  so,  quite  so,"  responded  the  Doctor 
quickly.  "Not  another  word,  Mr.  Lomack !  Glad 
you'll  come.  Bachelor  quarters,  you  know,  sir." 
And  again  there  was  a  humorous  quiver  of  his 
lips.  "No  formality." 


A  GLEAM  OF  HOPE  193 

"All  the  better  for  me,  Doctor,"  returned  the 
relieved  Seth;  "I  shall  feel  less  uncomfortable 
about  intruding  so  unconventionally." 

"Well,  I'll  send  my  trap  around  for  you  and — 
meanwhile — here's  my  card." 

"A  thousand  thanks,  Doctor." 

"Don't  mention  it.     Good-day." 

"Good-day." 

They  shook  hands  again,  and  the  Doctor  turned 
away  instantly  and  gained  the  shelter  of  his  buggy 
with  his  customary  quickness,  so  at  variance  with 
his  drawling  speech.  Seth  stared  after  him  until 
the  buggy  disappeared  from  view. 

"Well,  here's  something  at  last,"  he  sighed  to 
himself.  "God  grant  it  may  not  turn  out  some 
thing  harrowing!  To  find  you  and  to  lose  you 
again,  Ethel,  would  be  the  sharpest  cut  of  all.  So 
that  brusque,  dried-up  little  specimen  of  manhood 
was  a  good  sort  after  all.  Good  luck  to  you, 
Dr— " 

Here  his  reflections  came  to  a  sudden  pause,  for 
he  did  not  know  the  Doctor's  name.  How  funny 
that  he  had  never  asked  for  it!  And  yet  not 
funny — what  was  the  strange  little  Doctor's  name 
to  him?  He  only  wanted  information  from  him 
of  another,  and,  while  he  was  in  a  position  to  lay 
his  hand  on  the  man  himself,  what  did  the  man's 
name  matter  to  him.  Nothing — nothing  at  all! 
But,  in  the  light  of  the  Doctor's  gracious  proffer  of 
13 


194  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

hospitality  and  the  coming  interview,  the  subject 
had  a  passing  interest  for  Seth.  He  smoothed  out 
the  Doctor's  card,  which  he  had  unconsciously 
crumpled  up  in  his  restless  fingers  while  gazing 
after  the  original,  smoothed  it  out  with  repentent 
care. 

Dr.  Noel  Leeth. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ITS  PROBING 

"And  you  say  you  have  not  seen  this  lady  for 
seventeen  years?" 

Seth  and  Dr.  Leeth  were  sitting  in  the  latter's 
veranda  in  the  cool  dusk  of  the  evening.  Dinner 
was  over,  and  they  were  now  alternately  smoking 
and  sipping  something  refreshing  out  of  tall,  ice- 
packed  tumblers.  Seth  was  enjoying  a  good  cigar 
of  the  Doctor's  providing,  and  the  Doctor  mused 
over  a  cigarette — a  weakness  of  his,  he  never 
smoked  anything  else.  Seth  had  just  concluded 
his  narrative  of  the  strange  disappearance  of  Ethel 
Leon,  and  he  had  given  it  faithfully  and  min 
utely — down  to  the  smallest  detail.  He  had  even 
confessed  the  purely  fanciful  reason  which  had 
directed  his  search  towards  the  Carribean  Isles. 
The  Doctor  had  listened  to  it  all  with  a  close 
attention  which  did  not  for  an  instant  waver,  and 
on  Seth's  conclusion  had  made  this  remark  re 
corded  above. 

— "Yes,  Doctor,"  returned  Seth,  "it  is  now  seven 
teen  years,  more  than  seventeen  years,  since  I  last 
saw  her.  A  long,  long  time,  is  it  not?  And  yet, 
it  seems  like — yesterday!" 


196  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"Ah,  I  understand  you.  But  it  is  a  long  time, 
Mr.  Lomack — long  enough  to  have  effected  many 
marked  changes.  You  last  saw  a  woman  of — 
of—" 

"Of  thirty-one,  Doctor." 

"And  now  you  are  looking  for  a  woman  of — " 

"Forty-nine." 

"Of  forty-nine,  with  only  a  remembrance  of 
her  in  her  prime  to  help  you  to  identify  her.  A 
difficult  task,  sir;  I  might  almost  add,  a  hopeless 
one,  if  she  chooses  to  oppose  you." 

"A  difficult  one,  I  grant,"  said  Seth.  "A  hope 
less  one,  I  deny — except  she  is  dead.  Do  you 
think,  like  the  others,  that  she  is  dead,  Doctor?" 

The  Doctor  raised  his  glass  to  his  lips,  and  took 
a  long  drink. 

"Impossible  to  say  positively,  of  course,"  he 
remarked  softly,  as  he  replaced  the  glass  on  the 
table  between  them;  "but  it  looks  like  it.  You 
feel  sure  she  is  living,  Mr.  Lomack?" 

"Positive.  And,  if  I  am  mistaken,  I  still  mean 
to  find  out  how  she  died." 

"Ah !  And  so  you  really  think  you  would  know 
her  if  you  saw  her?" 

"I  should  know  her,"  returned  Seth  stoutly, 
"anywhere." 

"Ah!"  The  Doctor,  with  this  exclamation, 
puffed  away  meditatively,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
his  strange  guest. 

The  Doctor,  without  his  smoke-colored  pince- 


ITS  PROBING  197 

nez,  which  were  always  abandoned  with  the  fading 
of  the  daylight  glare,  looked  much  younger.  He 
still  wore  glasses,  for  his  eyes  were  weak ;  but  now 
you  could  see  their  shrewd,  dark  brightness.  They 
studied  Seth  keenly  now,  and  Seth  found  them 
vaguely  disturbing.  Did  the  Doctor  distrust  him  ? 
Think  him  an  adventurer  with  a  hidden  motive  ? 

"But  Miss  Jones!"  he  suddenly  pleaded.  "Let 
us  talk  of  her  now,  Doctor.  Have  mercy  on  my 
impatience!" 

"Ah,  yes!  Well,  Mr.  Lomack,  I — frankly!— 
do  not  think  that  my  patient  at  your  hotel  is  your 
sister-in-law.  You  see,  knowing  herself  to  be  very 
ill,  she  has  confided  several  matters  to  me,  in  order 
that  I  may  deal  with  them  for  her  in  the  event  of 
demise.  Her  confidences  are,  of  course,  sacred  to 
me — absolutely  sacred!  But  I  think  I  may,  with 
out  transgressing  in  any  way,  let  you  know  that 
they  do  not  support  your  story.  No,  not  at  all 
...  .not  at  all,  Mr.  Lomack." 

Seth  stirred  uneasily. 

"I  am  sorry,  sir,"  the  Doctor  added,  courteously 
and  sympathetically,  "to  disappoint  you.' 

"I  shall  not  be  satisfied  until  I  see  her!"  cried 
Seth  dauntlessly.  "Remember,  Doctor,  that  I  am 
speaking  of  seventeen,  eighteen,  years  ago — a  thou 
sand  occurrences  may  have  altered  her  circum 
stances,  given  her  new  responsibilities  and  ties;  I 
shall  not  be  satisfied  until  I  see  her!" 

"What  you  say  is  true,"  returned  the  Doctor 


198  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

slowly.  "Still,  Mr.  Lomack,  do  not  lean  too 
heavily  on  what  is,  after  all,  a  mere  bald  supposi 
tion.  Your  disappointment,  of  which  I  somehow 
feel  sure — will  be  heavy;  the  crumbling  of  your 
castle  in  the  air  will  give  you  a  serious  shock. 
You  tell  me  you  have  recently  been  bereaved,  you 
have  had  a  severe  illness,  and  I  can  see  for  myself 
that  your  nerves  are  still  overstrained.  Your 
story  has  interested  me  deeply,  has  touched  me 
very  much  in  fact.  I  can't  help  taking  a  friendly 
and  professional  interest  in  you,  Mr.  Lomack,  and 
I  would  shield  you  and  your  wild  hopes  from  the 
chills  of  disillusionment  where  I  can.  Therefore, 
I  again  repeat,  on  the  strength  of  what  I  have 
gathered  from  my  patient,  that  I  do  not  believe 
that  she  is  your  sister-in-law.  And  I  ask  you  not 
to  build  upon  it." 

Seth's  only  comment  was  to  cry  once  more : 

"I  shall  not  be  satisfied  until  I  see  her!" 

There  was  a  pause. 

"And  you  will  let  me  see  her,  won't  you,  Doc 
tor?"  Seth  went  on,  with  undiminished  eagerness. 
"Now  that  you  know  my  plea  to  be  founded  on 
something  stronger  and  more  sacred  than  idle, 
good-natured  friendship,  you  will  let  me  see  her 
. .  .  .soon?" 

The  Doctor  nodded. 

"Thank  you — God  bless  you !" 

The  Doctor  held  up  a  warning  hand. 

"But   I   have   conditions   to   impose,"   he   said. 


ITS  PROBING  199 

"You  shall  see  her — subject  to  my  conditions,  Mr. 
Lomack,  you  understand?" 

"All  right.  Any  you  like,  Doctor.  Only  let 
me  see  her." 

"I  will  let  you  see  her,"  pursued  the  Doctor 
quietly,  "when  I  can  do  so  without  disturbing 
her — as  soon  as  I  can  do  so.  When  she  is  dozing, 
for  instance;  I  cannot  have  her  startled  or  worried 
yet.  One  look  will  be  enough  for  you,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,"  breathed  Seth. 

"And  now  I  have  something  disagreeable  to 
add,  Mr.  Lomack." 

"Go  on,  Doctor.     I  forgive  you  beforehand." 

Mr.  Lomack,  my  patient  is  usually  awake  when 
I  call,  and  I  desire  to  be  present  when  you  see 
her — I  cannot  direct  the  nurse  to  admit  you  to 
her.  I  don't  wish  to  offend  you,  and  pray  believe 
that  I  don't  doubt  you,  but  I  am  taking  a  great  deal 
of  responsibility  upon  myself  in  allowing  you,  a 
stranger,  to  see  Miss  Jones  at  all,  and  I  feel  it 
my  duty — my  imperative  duty,  you  understand — 
to  be  present." 

"Certainly,  certainly!"  conceded  Seth  instantly. 

"You  will,  therefore,  have  to  await  my  time." 

"I  will  willingly  await  your  time,  Doctor." 

"Good!  And  in  the  event  of  the  worst,  Mr. 
Lomack? — we  must  take  that  into  consideration 
too,  you  know." 

"Y-es,"  faltered  Seth. 


200  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"You  shall  still  see  her — your  heart  shall  be  set 
at  rest." 

They  shook  hands  upon  it. 

And  now  William  broke  in  upon  them  with  an 
urgent  message,  and  the  Doctor  was  obliged  to 
make  his  excuses  to  his  new-found  friend.  The 
Doctor  gave  orders  for  his  guest's  comfortable 
return,  and  Seth  said  good-night  to  him  with  a 
grateful  heart. 

Several  long  days  and  longer  nights  went  by, 
however,  before  Dr.  Leeth  was  in  a  position  to 
keep  his  promise  to  Seth.  Meanwhile,  they  saw 
each  other,  as  before,  twice  daily.  Sometimes  the 
Doctor  had  time  to  exchange  a  few  brief  words 
with  Seth,  more  often  than  not  he  could  only  pass 
him  with  a  nod.  Miss  Jones  continued  to  hover 
between  life  and  death,  and  poor,  anxious,  wait 
ing  Seth  still  mechanically  pursued  his  investiga 
tions  morning  and  evening — mechanically,  because 
his  conviction  that  Miss  Jones  was  Ethel  grew 
stronger  every  day.  At  last  one  morning,  after 
his  visit  upstairs,  Dr.  Leeth  approached  Seth  with 
an  ominously  grave  air. 

"I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Lomack,"  he  said,  standing 
up  before  him,  and  looking  at  his  hands  as  he 
spoke,  "that  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  make  good  my 
promise  to  you  under  very  sad  circumstances.  My 
patient  is  decidedly  worse.  And  I  thought  I  was 
going  to  win  the  day." 


ITS  PROBING  201 

He  looked  up  now,  just  in  time  to  see  Seth  wince, 
and  he  stretched  out  a  deprecating  hand. 

"Steady,  Mr.  Lomack,  steady!"  he  remon 
strated.  "You  know  nothing  yet,  remember — 
absolutely  nothing.  And  if  you  would  be  influenced 
by  me,  you  would  not  fear.  At  any  rate,  it's  time 
enough  to  cry  out  when  we're  hurt.  Don't  let 
that  restless  imagination  of  yours  gain  a  mastery 
over  you — keep  it  under,  or  it  may  do  you  harm. 
Good-morning."  And  before  Seth  could  utter  a 
word,  the  Doctor  was  gone. 

But  Seth  was  waiting  for  him  by  the  door  when 
he  came  down  from  his  afternoon's  visit,  and  he 
looked  the  question  which  he  had  not  the  courage 
to  utter. 

"Dying,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  a  troubled 
frown. 

"Then  I  must  see  her!"  cried  Seth,  seizing  hold 
of  him.  "Doctor,  I  insist  upon  it!  She  shall  not 
die  before  I  see  her." 

"Who  is  'she'?"  asked  the  Doctor  frigidly. 
"You  shall  not  disturb  Miss  Jones." 

Seth  drew  back  from  him,  chilled. 

"Who  is  'she'?"  he  stammered,  helplessly.  I 
don't  know.  Ethel,  perhaps — Ethel,  perhaps!" 

The  Doctor  took  his  arm  and  drew  him  aside. 

"Miss  Jones  is  restlessly  conscious  just  now,  Mr. 
Lomack,"  he  said,  more  compassionately.  "Even 
were  she  your  sister-in-law  I  dare  not  have  her 
startled.  A  shock  would  be — well,  must  be 


202  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

avoided.  While  there  is  anything  to  work  for  I 
am  bound  to  protect  it." 

"But  you  have  no  hope,"  divined  Seth,  searching 
his  face. 

"No,  none  now." 

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  and  then  the 
Doctor  added: 

"But  I  am  coming  back  to-night.  I  may  be  able 
to  do  something  for  you  then.  Don't  detain  me 
now."  And  he  broke  away  and  departed. 

But  the  coming  back  that  night  was  in  one  sense, 
and  that  the  main  one,  quite  futile. 

It  brought  his  limitations  home  to  Dr.  Leeth  in 
a  heavy  manner.  He  did  not  remain  very  long 
upstairs — just  long  enough  to  receive  his  wounds 
from  our  common,  intangible  enemy.  When  he 
rejoined  Seth  in  the  latter's  retired  nook  in  a  cor 
ner  of  the  veranda,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  man 
had  been  hurt,  and  was  suffering.  He  and  Seth 
had  merely  glanced  at  each  other  with  silent  in- 
tentness — Seth  from  his  chair,  the  Doctor  leaning 
sideways  on  the  veranda  railing — and  the  faces  of 
both  whitened  with  a  sense  of  shock.  No  word 
passed  between  them,  and  yet  it  would  seem  that 
a  message  had  been  transmitted. 

"So  she  is  dead,"  Seth  said,  in  a  hollow,  emotion 
less  voice,  as  he  left  his  chair  and  leaned  on  the 
railing  beside  the  Doctor.  "Dead!  And  so  'past 
hope,  past  care,  past  help' !" 

"Yes." 


ITS  PROBING  203 

"When?" 

"Three  hours  ago." 

In  the  silence  which  followed  they  looked  dully 
at  the  other  people  dotted  about  the  veranda  and 
chatting  gaily,  and  here  and  there  a  bright,  curious 
glance  was  turned  upon  them  in  their  secluded  cor 
ner.  Then  they  looked  at  each  other  again,  and 
resumed  their  subdued  colloquy. 

"You  might  have  let  me  see  her!"  Seth  said 
bitterly. 

"I  did  not  have  a  fair  chance.  I  had  to  consider 
her  as  well  as  you.  Besides,  what  good  could  you 
have  done?" 

"It  would  have  been  a  satisfaction  to  me." 

"I  doubt  it." 

"Do  you  know,  Doctor,"  Seth  continued  angrily, 
"that  if  it  is  Ethel  I  shall  find  it  hard — almost  im 
possible — to  forgive  you." 

"Yes;  I  understand.  Will  you  end  it?  Will 
you  come  and  see  her.  .  .  .now?" 

The  Doctor's  voice  was  weary,  the  Doctor's  face 
was  haggard  and  strained.  His  tired  eyes  had  a 
desperate,  hunted  look.  A  sudden  queer  tender 
ness  toward  this  odd,  obstinate  little  man  filled 
Seth's  breast.  Instead  of  answering  the  Doctor's 
question,  he  said  to  him,  almost  as  tenderly  as  if 
he  were  speaking  to  a  woman : 

"Are  you  tired,  Doctor?" 

"Yes,  very,"  was  the  low  reply.  "And  heavy- 
hearted  too !  You  don't  know  what  it  means  to 


2O4  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

us  to  lose  a  case — a  case  which  encompasses  a 
human  life;  only  we  doctors  and  lawyers  know 
what  that  is,  and  the  sting  of  it.  I  fought  so  hard 
for  this  one." 

"I  am  sure  you  did." 

"And  I  thought — I  thought  I  was  going  to  win 
the  day.  .  .  .until  this  morning." 

"Yes;  you  said  so." 

The  Doctor  passed  his  hands  restlessly  over  his 
face. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "will  you  come  and  look  at  her 
now — and  be  done  with  it?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Seth,  slowly  and  shrinkingly. 

They  went  away,  arm  in  arm,  followed  by  many 
of  those  same  bright,  curious  glances,  with  a  laugh 
ing,  beguiling  suggestion  thrown  in  here  and  there, 
to  which  they  only  gave  an  absent  smile  and  shake 
of  the  head.  Both  these  men  were  popular  at  the 
hotel,  in  spite  of  their  unsociability;  and  this  said 
much  for  the  subtle  charm  of  their  individuality. 
One  pretty  American  girl,  bubbling  over  with 
thoughtless  health  and  spirits,  called  out,  in  the 
innocent  audacity  of  her  sunny  youth : 

"So  you're  consulting  a  doctor  at  last,  Mr. 
Lomack!  He's  malingering,  isn't  he,  Doctor? 
But  do  dose  some  spirit  into  him  to  join  our  picnic 
to-morrow — I've  set  my  heart  on  his  escort"." 

They  managed  to  laugh  at  her  merry  words, 
but  her  father  interrupted  with : 

"Silence,   Madcap !"     And  then  added,  out  of 


ITS  PROBING  205 

his  deeper  insight,  "Your  patient  is  no  worse  I 
hope,  Doctor?" 

The  Doctor  left  Seth,  and  went  up  to  his  ques 
tioner. 

"She  died  this  afternoon,"  he  whispered,  and 
immediately  rejoined  Seth,  and  disappeared  up 
stairs. 

"Is  Mr.  Lomack  really  ill?"  the  merry  girl 
cried,  turning  to  her  father,  who  had  suddenly 
grown  so  grave. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,  dear.  He  has  been,  you 
know;  but,  if  we're  to  judge  by  looks,  he's  getting 
on  famously." 

"Then  why  did  you  ask  the  Doctor  about  him?" 

"I  asked  him  about  the  poor  lady,  Sweetheart," 
her  father  returned,  with  that  great  tenderness 
which  we  all  feel  for  each  other  in  the  presence  of 
our  common  lot. 

"But,  Mr.  Lomack  and  he  seem  to  be  consult- 
ing?" 

"Well,  little  girl,  Mr.  Lomack  fancied  he  knew 
the  poor  sick  lady,  and  they  may  have  gone  off  to 
see.  She — she  died  this  afternoon,  poor  soul!" 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  laughing,  chattering  group, 
the  subdued  obeisance  which  Death  commands 
from  Life.  The  pretty,  impulsive  girl  said : 

"Oh,  I'm  real,  real  sorry!"  and  youth's  ready 
tears  came  into  her  bright  eyes;  but  hers  was  the 
only  voice  to  break  in  on  that  impressive  silence. 

Meanwhile,  Dr.  Leeth  and  Seth  had  gained  the 


206  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

death-chamber,  tenanted  now  only  by  the  dead. 
Dr.  Leeth  sat  down  by  a  table  in  one  of  the 
darkened  windows,  and  let  his  weary  head  rest 
upon  his  arms. 

Seth  walked  over  to  the  bed,  and  stood  there, 
at  its  head,  looking  down  at  the  covered  form. 
He  did  not  want  to  move;  he  did  not  want  to 
think,  he  could  not,  just  then,  feel.  He  only  dully 
desired  to  remain  exactly  as  he  was.  So  the  min 
utes  flew  by,  and  he  did  not  disturb  the  covering 
over  the  face,  but  stupidly  stood  by  the  bedhead, 
gazing  patiently,  without  sense  or  reason,  at  the 
flimsy  screening  sheet.  Dr.  Leeth  raised  his  head 
once  or  twice  to  see  if  Seth  had  looked  upon  the 
dead  woman,  and  dropped  it  again,  on  catching 
sight  of  that  impassive  figure.  At  length  he  ven 
tured  to  remonstrate. 

"Come,  come,  Mr.  Lomack!"  he  whispered. 
"I'm  dead  beat,  and  must  get  home  and  rest." 

Seth  started  violently,  and  rubbed  his  hands  over 
his  face,  as  if  awakened  from  a  dream. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,  Doctor,"  he  stammered. 
"I  don't  know  what  I'm  thinking  of!" 
.  He  stooped,  and,  with  a  very  gentle,  awed,  and 
unsteady  hand,  uncovered  the  face  of  the  dead. 
He  gazed  at  it  with  reverent  scrutiny.  How 
wondrously  calm  and  restful!  To  wish  to  recall 
her  to  life  seemed  a  blasphemy  in  that  majestic 
presence.  He  was  fascinated  by  her  perfect  still 
ness  and  the  thoughts  which  it  inspired.  All  her 


ITS  PROBING  2O7 

poor,  restless,  human  strivings  were  over;  all  her 
pain  and  despair;  all  the  racking  reaction  of  life's 
transient  joys!  She  was  peacefully,  regally  at 
rest.  He  felt  a  sudden  pang  of  envy  in  his  keen 
consciousness  of  her  marvelous  placidity.  Hope, 
that  elusive  element,  without  which  we  could  not, 
or  zvould  not,  live — why,  she  was  even  beyond  and 
above  hope !  His  soul  cried  out  for  some  form 
of  leave-taking  before  he  turned  away  from  her 
forever.  He  obeyed  the  impulse,  but  with  a  due 
sense  of  her  peculiar  grandeur  and  his  comparative 
humbleness.  He  timidly  touched  the  silver- 
streaked  masses  of  her  luxuriant  dark  hair,  and 
caressed  the  dark  fringe  of  her  eye-lids  with  light, 
lingering  fingers.  A  noble  soul  had  taken  wing — 
the  poor  human  casket  plainly  bore  its  impress. 
He  laid  his  warm  living  hand  upon  her  cool  dead 
ones,  as  they  lay  crossed  upon  her  quiet  breast,  and 
pressed  them  gently.  Then  he  replaced  the  cover 
ing,  and  stepped  softly  to  the  Doctor's  side. 

Was  the  Doctor  sleeping?  His  face  was  quite 
hidden  now,  and  he  did  not  stir.  His  glasses  lay 
on  the  table  beside  him.  Seth  looked  down  at  him 
curiously,  and  again,  as  he  looked,  a  queer  tender 
ness  filled  him. 

"Poor  little  man,"  he  thought.  "I'm  sure  he 
fought  hard  to  keep  her  here — I'm  sure  he  has  not 
been  defeated  without  a  wound  or  two.  I  expect 
they're  smarting  him  now." 

He  touched  him  softly  on  the  shoulder.     The 


208  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

Doctor  stirred  now,  but  languidly,  and  looked  up 
with  heavy  eyes.  He  had  dozed,  and  the  brief 
rest  seemed  not  to  have  refreshed  him,  only  to 
have  accentuated  his  haggard  weariness. 

"Well?"  he  asked,  with  a  smothered  yawn,  and 
beginning  to  rub  his  eyes.  "Have  you  anything 
to  forgive  me?" 

Seth  did  not  immediately  answer,  and  the  Doctor 
adjusted  his  glasses,  and  rose  and  repeated  his 
question. 

"N-o,"  Seth  said,  at  length,  half  dazedly,  in  re 
luctant  response  to  the  Doctor's  sharply  inquiring 
gaze;  "n-o.  Nothing  to  forgive  you.  You've — 
you've  been  very  patient  with  me,  Doctor,  and  I 
thank  you."  He  roused  himself  to  do  so  with 
difficulty. 

"We've  got  to  be  patient,  you  know,"  the  Doc 
tor  quickly  returned,  "or  drop  it." 

"Your — your  profession,  you  mean?" 

"Yes,  my  profession.  Well,  I'm  glad  you've 
nothing  to  forgive  me,  Mr.  Lomack.  She  was  a 
stranger  to  you,  as  I  surmised?" 

"Yes,"  said  Seth,  exactly  as  before.  "She  was 
...  .of  course — a  stranger  to  me!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 
WIZARD'S  WORK 

Seth's  intercourse  with  Dr.  Leeth  did  not  end, 
or  even  fall  off,  with  the  death  of  the  latter's  mys 
terious  patient,  Miss  Jones.  There  was  a  mutual 
strong  sense  of  attraction,  which  not  only  made 
itself  felt,  but  which  extorted  a  certain  amount  of 
consideration  and  concession  on  either  side. 
Chance  had  introduced  them  to  each  other,  and 
now  it  seemed  that  Fate  willed  that  the  casual 
acquaintanceship  be  sealed.  They  parted  on  the 
day  of  the  death,  knowing  that  the  bond  which  had 
drawn  them  together  was  hopelessly  severed,  and 
that  according  to  the  usual  course  of  things  they 
would  now  drop  out  of  each  other's  life,  and  yet 
they  did  not  say  good-bye.  They  were  both 
courteous  men,  even  punctiliously  so;  yet  they 
parted,  seemingly  for  the  last  time,  certainly  with 
out  definite  arrangements  for  meeting  again,  with 
out  any  form  of  leave  taking  whatever.  Perhaps 
they  did  not  want  to  say  good-bye,  did  not  mean  to 
do  so ;  be  that  as  it  may,  they  certainly  went  their 
separate  ways  in  silence. 

But  it  came  about,  as  time  went  on,  that  Seth  was 
invited  every  now  and  then  to  the  Doctor's  house, 
14 


210  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

and  duly  entertained  him  at  the  hotel  in  return. 
Sometimes  the  doctor  had  different  prominent  and 
interesting  people  in  the  island  to  meet  him,  more 
often  they  spent  a  delightful  evening,  smoking  and 
drinking,  and  idly  talking,  or  silently  dreaming, 
alone.  Seth  early  took  advantage  of  one  of  these 
latter  occasions  to  plead  with  the  Doctor  again  to 
help  him  in  his  further  search  for  Ethel. 

"Doctor,"  he  began,  "you've  been  in  practice 
here  a  very  long  time,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes.     A  good  number  of  years." 

"A  native  of  this  charming  spot,  I  guess?" 

"Not  of  this  island." 

"Ah!  I  suppose  they  talk  pretty  much  alike 
throughout  the  other  islands,  eh?" 

"Throughout  the  English  islands,  yes!  Their 
brogue  isn't  pretty,  is  it?" 

"Well,  it's  too  much  like  our  twang  for  me  to 
feel  inclined  to  criticise  it." 

"Yet  you  would  never  have  mistaken  me  for  an 
American,  would  you?"  asked  the  Doctor. 

"No ;  you're  an  out  and  out  West  Indian." 

"Thank  you." 

"And  I  guess  you're  proud  of  it,"  added  Seth, 
quickly,  fearing  that  the  Doctor's  brief  thanks  had 
been  somewhat  sarcastic,  and  that  he  himself  had 
been  unduly  personal. 

"Of  being  recognized  as  a  West  Indian? — oh, 
immensely!" 

And  now  there  was  no  reservation  of  manner  in 


WIZZARDS  WORK  211 

which  to  fear  any  hidden  sarcasm,  for  the  Doctor 
most  thoroughly  and  genuinely  looked  it. 

There  was  a  momentary  silence. 

"You  must  know  pretty  well  every  one  in  the 
island  by  now,  Doctor?"  Seth  insinuatingly  re 
sumed,  coming  rapidly  to  his  point. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  can  say  that,"  drawl 
ed  the  Doctor;  "but,  naturally,  I  know  a  good 
many." 

"I  wonder  if  you  would  mind  doing  me  a  great 
favour?" 

"Not  at  all." 

"Well,  will  you  help  me  in  my  further  investiga 
tions  here?  From  your  long-standing  and  wide 
acquaintance,  you  can,  no  doubt,  give  me  much 
valuable  information.  I  know  I've  got  a  lot  of 
nerve  to  ask  it  of  you,  but  I'm  a  desperate  man, 
Doctor,  and  desperate  men  are  bold.  Will  you?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Lomack,"  smiled  the  Doctor,  and 
instantly  fixing  Seth's  attention,  "I've  no  objection 
to  help  you — but  you  are  wasting  your  time  and 
energy,  I  am  sure!  We  might  make  out  a  few 
dozen  suspicious  cases  of  hiding  here,  and  conjure 
up  a  likeness  between  them  and  your  sister-in- 
law's — it  would  be  so  easy!  But  I  think  the 
sooner  you  let  yourself  be  discouraged  and  drop  the 
matter,  the  better." 

"I  am  growing  discouraged  already,  Doctor," 
admitted  Seth;  "but,  as  to  dropping  it,  that's  an 
other  matter.  I'll  not  drop  it  until  I  know  more 


212  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

than  I  know  now — by  Heaven  I  won't!  So,  if 
you'll  be  so  good,  let's  hear  some  of  the  cases  we 
might  make  out." 

It  was  a  moon-light  night — the  superb  moon 
light  of  the  tropics.  Both  the  Doctor  and  Seth 
looked  pale  in  it — the  Doctor,  frowningly,  wearied- 
ly  so,  Seth  alertly  and  obstinately  so.  They  looked 
at  each  other  thus  in  the  pause  which  ensued. 

"Such  men  as  you  make  mischief,  you  know,  Mr. 
Lomack,"  the  Doctor  observed. 

"I  dare  say  we  do — but  your  cases,  Doctor,  your 
cases !" 

"Well,"  returned  the  Doctor,  humoring  him, 
"there  is,  to  begin  with,  a  single  lady  of  mature 
years,  with  undoubtedly  an  interesting  history  be 
hind  her,  living  in  seclusion  at  a  place  called  'Seclu 
sion  ;'  then  there's  a  nurse,  whose  description  tallies 
with  your  sister-in-law's,  who  appeared  in  the  is 
land  some  years  ago,  proved  herself  most  capable, 
but  whose  lips  are  most  irritatingly  sealed  as  to 
her  antecedents.  Then  there's  another  lady  living 
by  herself  in  Bathsheba,  a  lady  in  broken  health, 
whose  reserve  about  herself  is  really  quite  phe 
nomenal;  but  a  whisper  has  gone  abroad,  from 
whence  no  one  knows,  that,  again  like  your  sister- 
in-law,  she  was  a  lady-doctor;  then — but  I  think 
that  will  do  for  the  present,  eh?  All  these  people, 
Mr.  Lomack,  hail  from  your  dear  United  States." 

"You  will  introduce  me  to  them,  Doctor?"  Seth 
cried  swiftly,  his  imagination  firing  instantly. 


WIZZARD'S  WORK  213 

"Ah,  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  promise  that!  But 
I  might  contrive  for  you  to  see  them  if  it  would 
be  a  satisfaction  to  you." 

"It  would  indeed!" 

"Very  well,  then,  I'll  do  my  best." 

"But  you'll  be  patient,  Mr.  Lomack?" 

"As  a  saint,  Doctor." 

But  none  of  these  people  proved — alas ! — to  be 
Ethel,  nor  any  of  those  afterward  suggested.  Seth 
felt  that  he  had  pretty  well  exhausted  Barbados, 
and  that  he  ought  to  push  on  to  one  of  the  other 
islands.  Yet  he  was  reluctant  to  leave  "Little 
England,"  for  very,  very  subtly  another  considera 
tion  had  grown  up  on  him  which  surpised  him  very 
much,  and  about  which  there  was  an  irritating 
amount  of  puzzling  uncertainty.  Just  what  this 
consideration  was  Seth  did  not  acknowledge  even 
to  himself.  It  was  all  so  unaccountable  that  it 
was  no  use  thinking  about  it.  Certainly  he  had 
met  some  very  interesting  and  agreeable  people 
since  he  had  come  to  Little  England,  people  who 
had  roused  and  strongly  captivated  him.  There 
were  jolly  Charlie  Sand  and  his  dainty  wife,  who 
reminded  him  of  his  own  lost  Etta ;  the  sturdy  old 
nonagenarian,  Dr.  Acre,  with  his  ideas  and  tastes 
of  another  age,  and  his  most  engrossing  fund  of 
old-time  anecdotes.  You  felt  it  was  a  desecration 
that,  in  order  to  escape  the  boy  in  the  street  he 
should  be  condemned  to  the  hideous  commonplace- 
ness  of  the  modern  dress,  he  was  so  suggestive  of 


214  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

a  powdered  queue,  knee-breeches,  and  lace  ruffles, 
and  buckled  shoes.  There  were  witty  Lawyer 
Barker  and  his  amusingly  talkative  wife;  breezy 
officers  from  the  barracks;  mysterious  diplomats 
from  Government  House ;  some  striking  women — 
yes,  the  Doctor's  circle  of  friends,  if  not  large,  was 
unquestionably  strong  in  point  of  entertainment. 
They  were  all  personalities,  distinctly  memorable 
types;  and  the  unsociably  inclined,  uningratiating, 
but  perversely  attractive  Doctor,  entertained  and 
entertaining  more  often  than  not  against  his  will, 
was,  perhaps,  the  most  notable  member  of  the  al 
luring  group.  These  people  received  Seth  into 
their  midst  with  the  utmost  cordiality,  and  had 
quickly  made  him  feel  one  of  them.  He  was  proud 
of  it,  quite  happy  in  it.  He  was  loathe  to  leave 
that  merry,  genial,  uncommon  circle,  and  the 
pretty,  summery,  health-giving  spot;  it  was  an 
ideal  place,  and  they  were  ideal  people,  under 
which  to  snuffle  off  life's  strain  and  efforts,  and 
dream  on  until  the  appointed  time.  He  had  to 
remind  himself  fiercely  that  he  had  not  done  with 
all  life's  ambitions,  that  he  had  sworn  to  himself 
to  stand  or  fall  by  one  most  dear  which  Fate  had 
assigned  to  him.  Still,  he  caught  himself  thinking 
distastefully  of  those  further  unexplored  bournes 
to  which  Duty  beckoned  him,  and  had  a  cowardly 
longing  to  linger  on  in  his  soft,  sunny,  flower- 
decked  nest,  with  these  strangely  charming  speci 
mens  of  the  world's  humanity  fluttering  about  him. 


WIZZARDS  WORK  215 

How  had  it  all  come  about?  He  couldn't  say. 
What  had  become  of  his  old  resolution  and  energy? 
He  didn't  know.  They  were  not  dying,  surely? 
Oh,  no,  no !  It  was  impossible !  Ethel !  He 
wanted  her  as  keenly  as  ever.  .  .  .only — only  the 
place  and  the  people  had  bewitched  him!  He 
would  shake  off  the  spell  and  go.  But  it  was 
easier  said  than  done.  So  Seth  compromised 
matters  with  his  conscience  by  taking  short  trips  to 
the  other  islands,  backed  by  letters  of  introduction, 
which  the  Doctor,  bluntly  stigmatizing  the  whole 
thing  as  a  fool's  errand,  reluctantly  procured  for 
him.  Seth  always  returned  to  Barbados,  faith 
fully  and  happily,  and  reported  progress,  in  every 
detail,  to  his  unsympathizing  friend,  the  Doctor. 
There  was  never  anything  to  report ;  the  apparent 
clues  all  ended  like  the  first,  in  a  mare's  nest,  and 
Seth's  progress  was  his  progress  through  the 
islands — that  was  all. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  while  sitting  in  the 
Doctor's  veranda,  Seth  remarked  thoughtfully: 

"I  hope  I  don't  bore  you,  Doctor?" 

The  Doctor  was  lighting  a  cigarette,  and  he 
finished  doing  so,  and  tossed  the  match  lightly 
away  before  he  answered.  The  cordiality  of  his 
reply,  however,  covered  that  first  disconcerting 
pause. 

"By  no  means,  Mr.  Lomack.  I  enjoy  your 
society — it  is  a  very  pleasant  break  in  my  usual 


2l6  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

monotonous  round.  I  only  wish  you  would  give 
up  your  useless  trips  and  let  us  see  more  of  you." 

"Ah!  You  are  very  good-natured,  Doctor. 
But  I  can't  give  up  my  trips.  .  .  .yet." 

"No?" 

"No." 

They  looked  at  each  other  curiously,  and  Seth 
hurriedly  and  irrelevantly  said: 

"There's  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  us,  Doc 
tor,  I  am  sure.  I  feel  it  but  I  can't  explain  it.  I 
expect  it  is  that  we've  both  suffered  and  lost  in  the 
past,  and  we  unconsciously  bear  the  mark  of  it  on 
our  persons  and  in  our  manner,  and  it  has  insen 
sibly  drawn  us  together.  Eh?" 

"No  doubt,"  returned  the  Doctor,  turning  to  his 
glass  for  consolation. 

"You  are  conscious  of  it,  too,  Doctor?" 

"Yes,  I  am  conscious  of  it,  too." 

"And  it  is  rather  unusual,  considering  the  cir 
cumstances,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  it  is  rather  unusual  between.  .  .  .strangers. 
We  felt  it  from  the  first,  didn't  we?" 

"No,"  returned  Seth  bluntly.  "I  was  angry, 
and  sore,  and  disgusted  with  you  at  our  first  inter 
view." 

"Ah!  I  remember!"  the  Doctor  spoke  dreamily. 
"Yes,  I  was.  .  .  .obliged  to  be  rude  to  you." 

"But  I  felt  it  at  our  second  interview — almost 
at  once." 

"Yes?" 


WIZZARD  S  WORK  217 

"May  I  ask  you  a  very  personal  question,  Doc 
tor?  With  the  excuse  that  it  is  not  idle  curiosity 
but  genuine  interest?" 

"Go  on." 

"Is  your  heart,  too,  buried  in  a  grave?" 

The  Doctor  puffed  away  silently  for  some 
moments,  gazing  straight  in  front  of  him. 

"Yes,"  he  drawled  at  length  subduedly,  "my 
heart,  too,  is  buried  in  a  grave." 

"Ah,  I  thought  so !  But,  still,  you  are  better  off 
than  I  am,  Doctor." 

"How  so?" 

"Why,  you  are  an  old  bachelor,  aren't  you?" 

The  Doctor  turned  his  head  aside. 

"Yes,"  he  yawned,  with  his  hand  to  his  mouth. 
"Well?" 

"Well,  to  lose  her  beforehand  must  be  hard, 
bitter  hard;  but  it  is  harder,  I  think,  to  lose  her 
.  .  .  .afterwards!" 

The  Doctor  suddenly  leaned  across  the  table 
between  them,  and  laid  his  hand  gently  on  Seth's 
shoulder. 

"How  cynics  would  laugh  at  you !"  he  said 
wonderingly,  admiringly. 

"Yes;   I  suppose  they  would." 

"They  would  indeed!"  returned  the  Doctor,  re 
lapsing  into  his  former  attitude.  "But  it  would, 
after  all,  be  a  laugh  of  envy,  poor  devils !  You 
could  afford  to  let  it  pass." 

"Did  you  lose  her  suddenly?"  Seth  asked  softly. 


2 1  8  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"Lose  whom?"  absently  queried  the  abstracted 
Doctor. 

"Why,  the  lady  who  was  all  the  world  to  you?" 

"Oh!  I  fear  you  have  been  jumping  to  conclu 
sions,  Mr.  Lomack,  like  a  woman.  And  yet,  con 
sidering  the  circumstances,  it  is  a  most  natural  sup 
position  on  your  part." 

"I  beg  your  pardon." 

"Please  don't!"  retorted  the  Doctor  promptly. 
"I  am,  Mr.  Lomack,  as  you  have,  no  doubt,  heard 
these  people  about  me  say,  a  wierd  person — and 
can  do  nothing  like  any  one  else.  No  woman  was 
ever  'all  the  world'  to  me." 

Seth  could  think  of  nothing  to  say;  he  could 
only  continue  to  gaze  at  the  Doctor  questioningly. 

"My  heart,"  continued  the  latter,  "was  buried  in 
a — in  a — boy's  grave." 

He  turned  to  raise  his  glass  to  his  lips,  and  was 
struck  by  Seth's  intent  gaze. 

"It  happened  a  long  time  ago,"  he  added  ner 
vously. 

Still  Seth  did  not  speak. 

"But  man,  woman,  or — or  child,"  he  stumbled 
on,  "it's  still  a  bond  of  sympathy,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Lo 
mack?" 

Seth  stretched  out  his  hand.  The  Doctor  took 
it,  and  immediately  asked : 

"Is  anything  the  matter,  Mr.  Lomack?" 

"Yey — I  mean,  no!"  stammered  his  guest.     "I 


WIZZARD  S  WORK  219 

don't  feel  up  to  the  mark,  in  fact,  and  think  I'll 
go  home." 

"Tired,  I  expect,"  remarked  the  Doctor  readily. 
Yes,  go  home  and  rest,  and  I'll  come  and  see  you 
to-morrow.  Good-night." 

"A  boy's  grave,"  Seth  ruminated,  as  he  returned 
to  the  hotel.  "A  nephew?.... a  little  brother? 
.  .  .  .perhaps  the  adopted  child  of  an  old  love? 
I  can't  tell — can't  make  it  out.  A  lonely  sadden? d, 
introspective  old  man — for  a  boy's  grave !  What 
a  rum  little  chap  he  is !  It's  only  puzzling  like  all 
the  rest  of  it.  But  he's  mighty  attractive  some 
how.  I'll  bet  the  history  of  his  life  is  worth  hear 
ing.  .  .  .but  he  isn't  the  man  to  tell  it  easily,  I 
can  see  that!  Perhaps  one  of  his  friends  would 
tell  it  for  him,  or  give  me  an  outline,  that  I  may 
get  nearer  to  him.  I'd  like  to ....  I  don't  know 
why.  .  .  .but  I'd  like  to!  I  declare  I'm  growing 
a  regular  interfering  Fanny !  One  of  the  evil 
results  of  mooning  here  in  idleness,  I  suppose — 
but  it's  so  d — n  pleasant  I  can't  tear  myself  away. 
Old  Dr.  Acre  would  know  about  him,  or  Charlie 
Sand — they're  real  chums,  Charlie  and  the  Doctor, 
I  can  see." 

The  next  night  brought  a  typical  West  Indian 
thunderstorm,  and  the  guests  thought  it  prudent 
to  retire  from  the  veranda.  Dr.  Leeth  and  Seth 
followed  the  others  indoors  without  enthusiasm, 
the  public  rooms,  with  their  concentrated  buzz  of 


220  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

conversation,  not  appealing  to  either  of  them. 
Seth,  after  a  bored  look  around,  said  suddenly: 

"Come  to  my  room,  Doctor."  And  the  Doc 
tor  followed  him  upstairs  with  alacrity. 

Seth's  room  was  large,  and  lofty,  and  airy,  and 
boasted  of  an  inviting  lounge  and  a  couple  of  com 
fortable  easy-chairs. 

"Sit  down,  Doctor,  and  make  yourself  at 
home!"  cried  Seth,  pushing  forward  one  of  the 
easy-chairs. 

Before  sitting  down,  however,  the  Doctor 
strolled  over  to  examine  the  photographs  on  the 
dressing-table  and  table.  There  were  not  many, 
but  saying,  with  a  smile,  that  he  never  could  resist 
looking  over  photographs,  and  that  he  hoped  Seth 
didn't  mind,  the  Doctor,  with  his  host's  cordial  as 
sent,  examined  them  all,  one  by  one,  eagerly  and 
long.  Meanwhile,  Seth  ordered  some  refreshments 
to  be  brought  up  to  them.  When  he  rejoined  the 
Doctor  the  latter  held  a  large  photograph  of  Etta, 
which  he  had  taken  from  the  center  of  the  dressing- 
table,  in  his  hand.  It  was  the  first  he  had  taken 
up,  and  he  returned  to  it  after  his  tour  of  inspec 
tion. 

"Your  wife,  I  presume?"  he  now  said. 

Seth  nodded. 

"Is  this  a  recent  one?" 

"Yes;   about  a  month  before." 

"How  young  and  happy  she  looks !" 


WIZZARD'S  WORK  221 

"She  always  did.  Even  in  death.  And  besides 
she  was  young — only  37." 

"Ah !   but  she  by  no  means  looks  even  that." 

"No;  she  was  a  wonderful  little  fairy — time 
dealt  her  no  little  unkindnesses  as  he  does  to  us 
less  favored  mortals;  he,  lightly  and  lovingly 
passed  her  over." 

"Ah  !    She  didn't  suffer,  did  she,  Mr.  Lomack?" 

"No.  She  died  suddenly  and  painlessly,  thank 
God!" 

"Heart  disease?"  queried  the  Doctor  gently. 

"Yes;    heart  disease." 

The  Doctor  replaced  the  photograph  carefully. 

"The  picture  on  the  right  is  my  mother,"  Seth 
continued.  "I  lost  her,  of  course,  some  time  ago." 

The  Doctor  gave  the  counterfeit  presentment  of 
that  genial  old  soul  a  kindly  glance. 

"She  just  looks  one  of  the  sweetest  mothers  in 
the  world!"  he  said,  cordially. 

"And  so  she  was." 

The  Doctor  was  turning  away,  but  Seth  detained 
him. 

"And  this,  Doctor,"  he  cried,  taking  up  the  re 
maining  photograph  on  the  left,  and  handing  it  to 
his  guest,  "is — Ethel  1" 

It  was  a  cabinet  photograph,  head  and  should 
ers  only,  taken  in  profile,  and  it  represented  a 
young  woman  of  about  seven  and  twenty,  with  a 
strong,  clever  face — much  too  characteristically 
strong  and  clever  for  beauty.  As  the  Doctor  took 


222  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

the  picture  and  bent  his  head  to  examine  it  again, 
a  blinding  flash  of  lightning  filled  the  room.  It 
struck  somewhere  near  by,  for  it  was  almost  si 
multaneously  followed  by  a  terrific  clap  of  thunder, 
which  shook  the  house  like  a  reed,  and  left  the  two 
men  dazed  and  blinking. 

"Great  Scott !  That  was  a  narrow  shave,  wasn't 
it?"  exclaimed  the  Doctor.  He  put  Ethel's  like 
ness  down,  and  turned  to  look  at  his  strangely  silent 
companion. 

Seth  was  white  and  trembling.  The  Doctor 
crossed  over  to  him,  and  made  him  sit  down. 

"Why,  you're  not  hurt,  are  you,  Mr.  Lomack?" 
he  asked  quietly,  yet  with  an  underlying  anxiety. 

"No — o,"  stammered  Seth.  "No,  not  at  all. 
It's — it's  only  the  shock,  you  know.  I  think  I 
must  be  going  crazy." 

"Ah,  those  nerves  of  yours  are  in  a  nasty  state." 

"Well,  can  you  wonder  at  it,  Doctor?" 

"No,  of  course  not!  Ah,  here  come  the  drinks ! 
Let  me  mix  you  one."  Which  he  did,  and  Seth 
eagerly  accepted  it. 

"Now,"  resumed  the  Doctor,  helping  himself, 
and  taking  a  chair,  "why  didn't  you  show  that 
photograph  of  your  sister-in-law  in  pursuing  your 
investigations?" 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,"  returned  Seth  hurriedly, 
"I  thought  it  would  be  misleading.  It  was  taken 
so  long  ago — she  always  hated  being  photo 
graphed;  and  it  is  only  a  side  view,  which  one 


WIZZARD'S  WORK  223 

does  not  often  catch.  I  thought  it  better  to  rely 
on  my  conception  of  the  girl  I  knew  so  intimately, 
as  a  woman  of  fifty." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  are  right." 

"Those — those  other  photographs  on  the  table," 
pursued  Seth,  still  a  little  hurriedly,  "are  my 
mother-in-law  and  her  husband,  and  my  wife's 
twin  sister.  They  are  recent  likenesses  too,  and 
good  ones." 

The  Doctor  glanced  at  them  from  where  he  sat, 
and  remarked  that  the  twins,  though  both  so 
pretty,  were  not  at  all  alike. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Seth. 

"And  they  seem  to  have  inherited  their  youthful 
looks  from  their  mother,"  went  on  the  Doctor. 
"She  looks  more  like  another  sister  than  the  pa 
rent." 

"Yes;    she's  very  young  looking." 

"And  though  unalike,"  the  Doctor  continued, 
"both  daughters  have  a  look  of  her." 

"Yes;  Addie  has  her  coloring,  and  Etta  had 
her  features." 

"They  are  all  well,  I  hope,  Mr.  Lomack?"  con 
cluded  the  Doctor,  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"Yes,  thank  you... when  I  last  heard....! 
don't  hear  very  often." 

After  a  long  pause  the  Doctor  cleared  his  throat, 
and,  breaking  the  awkward  silence,  asked  if  they, 
too,  worried  about  the  missing  woman. 


224  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"N — o,"  replied  Seth  dreamily,  "I  think  they 
have — forgotten  her!" 

They  raised  their  glasses  simultaneously. 

"But  /  shall  never  forget  her!"  Seth  added  irrel 
evantly  as  they  put  their  glasses  down. 

"Forget  whom?" 

"Ethel." 

"No;   it's  rather  a  pity  you  can't,  I  think." 

"If  I  never  find  her,"  Seth  seemed  compelled  to 
go  on  with  the  subject,  "I  shall  still  be  glad — aw 
fully  glad !" — Seth's  face  was  becoming  irradi 
ated — "that  I  tried.  I  wouldn't  have  missed  try 
ing,  Doctor,  for  the  world!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WOODLANDS 

Subtly,  very  subtly,  Seth's  trips  to  the  other 
islands  grew  briefer  and  briefer,  and  longer  and 
longer  between.  He  seemed  to  set  about  them  per 
functorily,  and  be  glad  to  get  them  off  his  mind. 
Was  he  losing  all  hope  at  last?  It  was  hard  to 
say,  fojr  he  continued  not  to  acknowledge  what  he 
felt  even  to  himself.  Certainly  the  search,  if  it  did 
rather  hang  fire,  was  never  entirely  abandoned. 
The  Doctor  said  this  was  purely  because  of  Seth's 
pride,  not  because  of  his  convictions;  and  Seth  let 
this  assertion  pass  with  no  other  comment  than  that 
of  an  enigmatical  smile.  In  his  communications 
home  Seth  assured  his  people  that  the  Ethel-hunt 
was  still  in  progress  through  the  islands;  but  that 
he  intended  for  the  future  to  make  Barbadoes  his 
headquarters,  as  the  place  suited  him  splendidly, 
and  he  had  got  into  a  most  fascinating  set.  For 
Seth  had  strengthened  his  acquaintance  with  the 
Doctor's  cronies,  until  he  was  quite  independent  of 
the  Doctor's  introduction  to  their  houses,  and 
could  visit  them  with  an  assured  welcome  on  his 
own  account  whenever  he  so  minded. 

But  he  never  succeeded  in  gathering  from  them 
15 


226  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

any  important  particulars  about  the  Doctor  who 
so  pleasantly  filled  his  thoughts.  Perhaps  they  had 
nothing  to  tell,  or  perhaps,  being  cautious  men  of 
the  world,  they  were  chary  of  giving  information 
which  they  had  no  authority  to  give.  However 
this  was,  Seth  only  heard  of  Dr.  Leeth's  goodness 
and  popularity,  and  that  he  had  come  to  the  island 
many  years  ago.  With  this  he  found  he  would 
have  to  be  content. 

Dr.  Leeth  frequently  gave  afternoon  parties  to 
his  little  patients,  when  the  usual  quietude  of  his 
pretty  grounds  and  fine  old  house  would  be  trans 
formed  and  both  would  resound  with  childish 
chatter,  pranks,  and  laughter.  The  Doctor  was 
in  his  element  then,  and  joined  in  all  their  sports 
with  enthusiasm.  Indeed  he  made  a  famous  leader, 
and  was  as  much  transformed  from  his  ordinary 
bearing  as  the  house  and  grounds  themselves.  It 
was  the  only  bit  of  sociability  he  could  really  be 
said  to  enjoy.  And  he  always  took  care  to  have 
some  one  at  hand — a  capable  representative — to 
fall  into  his  shoes  as  master  of  ceremonies  should 
he  be  called  away,  so  that  the  fun  was  never  al 
lowed  to  flag.  Seth,  when  he  was  in  the  island,  was 
first  among  the  volunteers  for  this  service.  Thus 
it  was  that  no  treat  was  more  coveted  by  the  tots 
of  "Little  England"  than  a  visit  to  "Woodlands," 
and  the  queer,  dried-up,  brusque  little  Doctor  was 
their  acknowledged  hero.  Somehow  the  games  at 
"Woodlands"  always  provoked  more  merriment 


WOODLANDS  22y 

than  anywhere  else;  the  refreshments  always  tasted 
sweeter;  and  these  over,  and  while  the  guests  were 
cooling  their  flushed,  happy  little  selves  in  the  ver 
anda  preparatory  to  returning  home,  the  Doctor 
would  tell  them  story  after  story — and  certainly 
no  one  could  tell  a  story  better  than  he,  or  in  any 
way  like  him. 

"Now,  the  undisputed  queen  of  these  little  men 
and  women  was  a  certain  Nellie  Darling,  or  Lala, 
as  she  had  styled  herself  as  soon  as  speech  was  pos 
sible.  Lala  was  a  diminutive  maiden  of  four  sum 
mers,  with  a  pretty  little  head  of  tight  black  curls, 
wicked  little  black  eyes,  and  a  delicious  mouth,  set 
in  the  fairest  of  pink  baby  faces.  Lala  was  alto 
gether  distractingly  bewitching  and  lovable,  but  as 
wilful  and  naughty,  and  as  healthily  human,  as  the 
fondest  mother  could  wish.  Lala  had  a  nurse,  one 
of  her  most  devoted  slaves,  a  neat  black  woman, 
who  was  grandiloquently  styled  Princess  Ward. 
The  blacks  have  a  great  weakness  for  fine  names, 
or  I  should  say  for  names  which  they  consider  fine. 
Of  course,  Lala  was  in  great  demand  at  all  child 
ish  festivities;  and  it  must  be  admitted  that,  for 
all  her  charm,  she  could  be  occasionally  very  dis 
concerting.  For,  being  at  heart  an  honest  little 
soul,  she  would  no  sooner  begin  to  feel  bored  than 
she  would  plaintively  remark  to  those  about  her: 

"I  wis'  P'incess  Ward  would  turn  for  me  !"  And 
sigh  out  of  all  proportion  to  her  tiny  form. 

This  was  not  polite  behavior,  to  say  the  least  of 


228  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

it  though  it  extorted  from  Lala's  least  indulgent 
hostess  a  reluctant  smile. 

But  Lala  never  said,  "I  wish  P'incess  Ward 
would  turn  for  me,"  when  she  was  at  "Wood 
lands"  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  would  then  greet  that 
faithful  creature's  coming  with  icy  dignity,  and 
loftily  ask,  "Why  have  you  turn,  P'incess  Ward. 
I  don't  want  you!  Fse  not  ready.  Go  away!" 
And  it  would  require  the  exercise  of  no  little  tact 
on  the  Doctor's  part  to  make  her  see  the  duty  of 
returning,  at  least  temporarily,  to  her  mother's 
roof.  For  the  Doctor  had  always  to  promise  much 
future  hospitality. 

"All  wite !"  she  would  at  length  concede.  "But 
oh,  I  wis'  muvver  and  me  lived  here  wis  'oo !" 
Which  speech  would  create  keen  amusement  and 
much  subdued  comment  among  the  assembled 
nurses  and  elder  guests;  for  the  gossip  of  the 
island  had  long  coupled  the  Doctor's  name  with 
the  pretty  little  widow's — but  no  one  laughed  at 
this  more  heartily  than  the  Doctor  himself.  And 
that  was  not  encouraging  to  the  romantic.  Still, 
he  was  unquestionably  fond  of  going  to  "Harmony 
Lodge,"  Mrs.  Darling's  modest  little  home,  and 
spent  many  a  pleasant  hour  there  chatting  to  its 
inmates — so  many  times  that  the  lonely  and  poor 
little  widow  herself  often  wondered  wistfully 
whether  he  would  eventually  marry  her.  She 
secretly  hoped  so;  for  she  was  very,  very  lonely, 
and  rather  needy,  and  the  prosperous  Doctor  was  a 


WOODLANDS  229 

congenial  and  desirable  companion,  whom  she  liked 
and,  trusted,  and  looked  up  to.  She  gave  him  a 
good  deal  of  very  delicate  encouragement,  but  the 
Doctor  seemed  queerly  dense  upon  the  theme,  and 
their  cordial  friendship,  while  it  suffered  no  back 
sliding,  seemed  incapable  of  expanding  into  any 
thing  more  satisfactory.  I  am  afraid  the  child 
was  really  the  attraction  to  the  Doctor.  Lala  had 
completely  won  Dr.  Leeth's  heart  at  the  first  inter 
view,  though  it  must  be  allowed  that  it  was  a  very 
susceptible  heart  to  little  children.  When  he  first 
saw  her  she  was  running  away  from  her  nurse,  who 
had  been  commanded  to  bring  her  before  him ;  and 
she  fell  heavily  on  the  gravel  walk,  just  in  front 
of  the  veranda  where  he  stood.  It  was  a  severe 
fall,  and  it  bruised  to  bleeding  the  tiny  hands  and 
wrists;  but  she  was  up  in  an  instant,  and,  shaking 
the  nurse's  hand  from  her  shoulder,  covered  her 
defeat  by  putting  those  tell-tale  hands  behind  her 
and  saying  to  the  Doctor  with  a  tremulous  smile, 
behind  which  lurked  the  repressed  tears: 

"I  mos'  pan  down,  didn't  I?" 

The  Doctor  took  to  the  brave  little  soul  at 
once;  and,  easily  making  friends  with  her,  was 
permitted  presently  to  dress  the  little  hands  and 
wrists,  and  to  look  down  the  little  throat,  to  which 
end  he  had  been  summoned.  From  that  day  Lala 
and  the  Doctor  were  sworn  allies. 

Lala's  method  of  showing  her  affection  was  to 
climb  on  the  object's  knee  and  coaxingly  query: 


230  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"You  want  me  to  nass  (nurse)  you?"  Which 
feat  she  considered  admirably  accomplished  by  the 
bestowal  of  sundry  caresses.  Naturally,  they  were 
never  declined.  Indeed,  far  from  being  declined, 
the  recipients  would  grow  insatiable,  and  then  Lala 
would  rebel.  The  Doctor  was  one  of  the  biggest 
sinners  in  this  respect,  but  Lala's  gentle  little 
mother,  whose  rather  anxious  and  careworn  counte 
nance  was  pathetically  like  Lala's  gay  one,  would 
never  permit  the  small  martinet  to  snub  her  kind 
friend. 

"Nellie!  Don't  you  hear  the  Doctor  calling 
you?  Go  to  him  at  once,  child." 

"My  dacious,  muvver!  I've  just  been  and 
nassed  him,  and  now  he  wants  me  again !  What 
is  it,  mis'able  Doctor?"  as  she  climbed  again  upon 
his  knee. 

Lala's  lessons  were  another  source  of  amuse 
ment  to  her  numerous  friends.  Lala  was  made  to 
learn  pieces  of  poetry  and  recite  them,  and  these 
pieces  of  hers  were  in  great  demand;  for  Lala 
made  the  most  comical  jumble  of  them  imaginable, 
and  kept  her  audience  in  roars  of  laughter.  She 
put  in  a  line  just  as  it  occurred  to  her,  without 
troubling  her  head  as  to  whether  it  belonged  to 
the  verse  she  was  repeating;  and  as  she  was  never 
at  a  loss  for  a  line,  only  seldom  got  hold  of  it  in  its 
proper  place,  the  result  may  be  fancied.  It  was 
hugely  mirth-provoking — to  her  own  entire  satis 
faction.  The  Doctor's  favorite  among  her  pieces 


WOODLANDS  23 1 

was  "The  Sluggard."  He  made  her  recite  it  to 
Seth  one  afternoon,  after  one  of  his  child-parties, 
as  they  all  sat  together  in  the  veranda,  cooling  off 
from  their  happy  romps. 

This  is  a  faithful  rendering  of  it  as  Lala  gave 
it;  and  let  me  here  say  that  Lala  was  no  dream- 
child;  she  was  flesh  and  blood — once. 

"THE   TUGGARD 

"  'Twas  the  voice  of  the  tuggard,  I  ha'ad  him  complain, 
'You  have  waked  me  too  toon,  I  must  tumber  again.' 
As  the  door  on  its  hinges  so  he  on  his  bed 
Hey  ta'ans  his  side  an'  his  shoulders,  an'  his  heavy  head. 

"  'A  little  more  teep  an'  a  little  more  tumber, 
Thus   he   wastes    all    his   hands   without   number, 
An,  when  he  gets  up,  he  sets  folding  his  hands, 
Or  walks  about  tyfling  or  tauntering  he  stands. 

"I   passed  by  his   garden,   I   ha'ad  the  wild   briar, 
The  sorn   an'  the  sistle   grew  broader   and   higher, 
The  clothes  that  hung  on  him  were  turning  to  dags, 
Till  he  scarce   read  his  Bible  an'  never  loved  sinking. 

"Says  I  to  myself,  'Here's  a  picsur  for  me! 
This  man's  but  a  picsur  of  what  I  shall  be.' 
But  thanks  to  my  friends  for  their  care  in  my  b'eeding, 
Who  taught  me  by  times  to  love  wa'king  an'  deeding." 

And  Princess  Ward,  coming  on  the  scene  as  the 
last  verse  was  started,  augmented  Seth's  laughter 
by  gravely  saying  on  its  conclusion: 

"Mis  Lala,  I  dun  tol'  you  already — you  mussen 
say  picsur,  you  must  say  picter!" 

In  case  his  story-telling  powers  should  suddenly 
fail  the  Doctor  always  had  a  few  quiet  games  on 


232  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

hand  to  while  away  the  "cooling  off"  period.  On 
this  occasion  some  of  the  elder  children  had  been 
amusing  themselves  with  that  subtly  instructive  di 
version,  "Word-making  and  word-taking,"  as  they 
sat,  Turkish  fashion,  in  a  circle  on  the  floor  of  the 
veranda.  Tired  of  playing  the  game  strictly  ac 
cording  to  rules,  they  had  strayed  into  the  pastime 
of  secretly  spelling  out  some  familiar  name,  and 
handing  the  jumbled-up  letters  to  their  right-hand 
neighbor  for  solution.  There  had  been  a  respectful 
pause  in  the  brisk  interchange  of  names  for  Lala's 
recitation,  and  this  was  no  sooner  over  than  she 
danced  toward  them,  to  elude  Princess  Ward  and 
to  put  off  the  hateful  moment  of  going. 

"What's  'oo  doing?"  she  asked,  squeezing  down 
into  their  midst  with  an  ingratiating  smile. 

They  explained. 

"I  wants  to  play  too !"  she  thereupon  announced. 
"S'ow  me." 

They  looked  with  deference  at  Princess  Ward, 
who  had  followed  up  her  charge. 

"No,  Mis  Lala,"  the  nurse  said,  "you  must 
come  home  to  once,  or  your  mammy'll  fret,  you 
know." 

"Des  one  try,  P'incess  Ward!"  she  pleaded. 
"An'  I'll  come." 

But  Lala's  orthographical  powers  were  not 
quite  up  to  her  desires,  and  she  was  obliged  to  ap 
peal  to  her  little  sweetheart,  Hallie,  a  fine  boy  of 
ten,  for  assistance.  After  much  whispering  be- 


WOODLANDS  233 

tween  them,  Lala  was  provided  with  two  names, 
and  she  trotted  back  to  Seth  and  the  Doctor,  hold 
ing  the  well-mixed  letters  in  each  chubby  hand. 
She  gave  a  name  to  each  of  them,  and  wanted  to 
wait  for  the  solutions,  but  the  Doctor,  fully  alive 
to  Princess  Ward's  perplexity,  declared  that  he  was 
too  tired  to  work  it  out  now,  but  would  work  it  out 
afterward  and  let  her  know.  He  put  the  little 
pieces  of  cardboard  into  his  pocket,  and  Seth,  say 
ing  that  she  should  have  his  solution  too,  to-mor 
row,  followed  his  example. 

"Now,  Lala,"  said  the  Doctor  firmly,  "say 
good-by  and  go  with  your  nurse." 

"Yes,  Mis  Lala,"  the  latter  assented,  "you  goin' 
to  get  me  into  trouble  ef  you  doan'.  Come, 
honey!' 

Lala  stood  irresolute. 

"Lala,  I  don't  love  you!"  warned  the  Doctor. 

She  looked  troubled  for  a  moment,  and  then  the 
spirit  of  bravado  braced  her  up. 

"Well,"  she  said,  screwing  up  her  little  mouth 
into  a  defiant  pout,  "I  don't  lub  'oo  neeser!" 

Seth  had  much  ado  to  keep  his  face  straight. 

"Oh,  all  right.  Good-by  for  good  then.  I  never 
want  to  see  naughty  little  girls." 

The  majority  of  children  would  have  acknowl 
edged  this  speech  by  a  burst  of  tears;  but  tears 
were  not  much  in  Lala's  way — she  was  too  confi 
dently  optimistic,  as  her  friends  well  knew.  She 
might  be  safely  relied  on  to  laugh  where  other 


234  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

children  would  cry.  She  laughed  now,  and  climb 
ing  carelessly  upon  the  threatening  Doctor's  knee, 
gave  him  a  bearish  hug. 

"I'se  goin'  now,"  she  said.  "An'  I'se  comin' 
again,  isn't  I?" 

"If  you're  good." 

She  kissed  him  and  "Mr.  Seff"  too,  as  she 
called  him,  and  took  Princess  Ward's  hand. 

"You  tell  me  de  names  to-morro',  'member!" 
she  advised  them. 

"All  right." 

"And  if  we  get  them  right,  Lala,  what  then?" 
Seth  asked. 

"I  kiss  'oo." 

"And  if  we  can't  make  them  out?" 

"I  sap  'oo — "  She  paused,  and  added  vindict 
ively,  "powerful!" 

"May  Heaven  guide  and  support  us!"  cried 
Seth,  laughingly.  "Good-by  for  the  present, 
Lala." 

"Dood-by." 

"It  hurts  me,"  Dr.  Leeth  dreamily  observed  to 
Seth,  when  the  little  ones  had  all  dwindled  away, 
and  they  two  still  sat  on  chattering,  "it  hurts  me 
to  think  that  Lala  will  have  to  grow  into  a  wo 
man." 

Seth  started,  looked  at  the  Doctor  curiously. 

"Why?"  he  asked  swiftly.  "Surely,  Doctor, 
surely,  you  wouldn't  have  her — "  Seth's  shrinking 
tones  died  away  into  silence. 


WOODLANDS  235 

"No,  not  die,"  quietly  interposed  the  Doctor. 
"But  I'd  like  to  keep  her  as  she  is,  just  as  she  is!" 

"Why,  are  you  a  woman-hater,  Doctor?" 
smiled  Seth.  "I  shouldn't  have  thought  it." 

"Oh,  no !  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I  can't  ideal 
ize  women,  I  can  only  see  them  as  they  are;  and 
so  I  prefer  the  baby  to  the  young  girl,  and  the  old 
lady  to  the  beauty  in  her  prime." 

Seth  laughed. 

"You  have  grown  cynical,  Doctor,  and  have  for 
gotten  your  own  young  days,"  he  protested. 

"On  my  word,  no !  I  remember  them  quite  viv 
idly." 

"Well,  you  held  a  different  opinion  then,  I'll 
bet  a  fortune." 

"Think  so?"  the  Doctor's  tone  was  mocking. 

"Yes.     Deny  it  if  you  can." 

"I  do  deny  it." 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

"Well,  you're  a  strange  man — that's  all  I  can 
say!"  remarked  the  wondering  Seth,  giving  up  the 
problem. 

"I  expect  I  am.  But  you're  mighty  fond  of 
little  children  yourself,  Mr.  Lomack." 

"Rather.  All  my  life  long  little  children  have 
helped  me.  Still,  think  what  a  pretty  woman  Lala 
will  make." 

"Ah,  yes !  But  a  woman's  beauty  cannot  touch 
a  child's.  And  she'll  be  self-conscious,  and  vain, 
and  artificial  to  boot — the  old  unstudied  charm  and 


236  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

frankness  will  go.  Still,  I'd  like  to  have  Lala, 
even  with  the  drawback  of  her  becoming  a  woman 
some  day." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  marry  her  mother?"  Seth 
retorted  bluntly.  "The  whole  island  expects  you 
to." 

The  Doctor  smiled  peculiarly. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  drawled.  "But,  perhaps,  I 
don't  want  to." 

"She's  a  nice  little  woman,"  said  Seth  defend- 
ingly. 

"Nice?  She's  a  dear  little  woman,  and  Lala 
will  have  all  I  have  some  day." 

Seth,  interested  as  he  was,  realized  that  he  had 
reached  a  stone  wall.  He  idly  took  up  a  book 
which  lay  on  the  table  between  them,  a  book  which 
the  Doctor  had  been  reading  prior  to  his  guest's 
arrival.  It  was  Wilkie  Collins's  "After  Dark,  and 
Other  Stories." 

"I  like  Wilkie  Collins  too,"  he  observed  tact 
fully  changing  the  conversation,  "and  these  short 
stories  are  capital.  "Hullo !" — as  the  book  oblig 
ingly  fell  open  at  a  certain  place  as  if  long  used 
to  be  opened  there — "this  seems  to  be  a  favorite." 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  a  story,  so  Seth's  eyes 
traveled  to  the  top  of  the  page  for  the  title,  "Sis 
ter  Rose."  The  open  pages  before  him  were 
somewhat  the  worse  for  handling  and  frequent  ex 
posure,  and  showed  to  disadvantage  beside  the 


WOODLANDS  237 

others,  even  the  others  of  the  same  tale,  although 
the  volume  was  an  old  one. 

Seth  noted  all  this,  and  then  inquisitively  re 
freshed  his  memory  by  reading  those  favored 
pages. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Doctor  absently,  "that  tale  is  a 
favorite,  as  all  the  tales  are  which  have  helped 
one." 

"This  one  helped  you,  did  it?"  asked  Seth,  look 
ing  up  with  ready  attention. 

"Yes,  very  much.  .  .once.  And  I  have  a  grate 
ful  affection  for  it — such  as  you  would  feel  for  an 
old,  tried  friend." 

"That  was  a  lucky  and  daring  thought  of  Lo- 
mack's — my  namesake  ! — the  wiping  out  of  the 
names  from  the  death-list,  wasn't  it?"  Seth  ob 
served,  in  reference  to  that  part  of  the  story  which 
he  had  just  been  reading. 

"Very." 

"But  do  you  think  any  chemical  can  remove  ink- 
writing  without  leaving  the  slightest  mark,  Doc 
tor?" 

"Oh,  yes.     Wilkie  Collins  was  no  bungler." 

Seth  closed  the  book,  and  laid  it  down.  Idly 
putting  his  hands  into  his  pocket,  he  encountered 
the  cardboard  letters  Lala  had  given  him,  and 
drew  them  out,  and  spread  them  on  the  table  be 
fore  him. 

The  Doctor  watched  him  a  moment,  and  then 
took  up  the  abandoned  volume,  as  Seth  began  to 


238  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

play  with  his  letters.  Seth  turned  the  letters  this 
way  and  that  without  result,  but  suddenly  three 
letters  chancing  together  suggested  a  name,  and 
he  listlessly  proceeded  to  try  to  spell  it  out.  That 
he  did  so  successfully,  startled  him — and  he  stared 
at  the  result,  dumbfounded !  Suddenly  he  glanced 
swiftly  and  nervously  at  the  absorbed  Doctor, 
noted  his  inattention  with  palpable  relief,  and  rap 
idly  reduced  his  solution  to  an  unintelligle  jumble 
once  more.  Then  he  fell  back  in  his  chair,  and 
the  action  attracted  the  Doctor's  notice. 

"Done  your  lesson?"  queried  his  host,  putting 
down  the  book. 

"N — o,"  said  Seth  slowly.  "What  nanie  could 
Lala  have  given  me?  Can  you  guess?" 

"Mine,  probably,"  returned  the  Doctor,  pro 
ducing  his  set  of  letters.  "Try  it.  And  this  is  no 
doubt  yours.  I  know  the  little  minx." 

And  so  it  proved.  The  tumbled  heap  of  letters 
before  each  man  easily  resolved  itself  into  their  re 
spective  names,  the  Doctor's  first,  for  Seth's  fingers 
were  not  quite  steady.  They  both  laughed  over 
the  solution,  Seth  not  quite  naturally,  and  bending 
down  his  head. 

"Well,  we've  got  that  off  our  minds,"  remarked 
the  Doctor,  putting  his  letters  back  into  his  pocket. 
"And  now" — as  William  drove  the  buggy  to  the 
front — "I  must  go  and  see  Mrs.  Moy's  boy.  Like 
a  drive?" 

"Not  this  afternoon,  thanks,  Doctor,"  softly  re- 


WOODLANDS  239 

plied  Seth,  as  he  pocketed  the  Doctor's  name.  "I 
must  get  back  to  the  hotel.  So  long!" 

"So  long!" 

The  Doctor  drove  off.  But  Seth  did  not  re 
turn  immediately  to  his  quarters.  Instead  he  re- 
entered  the  house,  and  softly  penetrated  to  the 
Doctor's  office — a  room  seldom  entered,  except 
for  business  purposes.  A  paragraph  from  "Sister 
Rose"  was  singing  through  his  brain.  Above  the 
Doctor's  desk  was  his  framed  diploma.  Seth 
studied  it  long  and  carefully,  and  for  the  first  time. 
It  had  not  seemed  of  any  importance  before;  and 
now  it  seemed  that  he  could  not  look  long  enough 
at  the  names  of  the  college  and  the  man.  Then 
he  returned  slowly  to  the  veranda,  and  sat  down 
in  his  former  seat.  Mechanically  he  again  drew 
Lala's  letters  from  his  pocket,  and  spread  them 
once  more  on  the  table.  Deftly  he  sorted  out  the 
little  pile  as  before. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured,  "all  my  life  long  have 
little  children  helped  me!  You  know  much,  Dr. 
Noel  Leeth,  and  you  can  keep  your  counsel  well, 
it  seems.  .  .  .but  at  least  you  shall  tell  me  more 
than  you  have  yet  done — some  day.  .  .  .only  not 
now,  not  now !" 


CHAPTER  XV 

ADDIE 

One  morning  Seth's  mail  brought  him  surprising 
news.  He  had  known  for  some  little  time  now 
that  Addie's  health  had  begun  to  fail,  and  that  she 
had  gone  to  her  mother  in  Ireland  to  recuperate; 
and,  on  this  particular  morning,  a  letter  from 
Dickie  Leigh  informed  him  that  he  had  joined 
his  wife  in  Ireland,  and,  finding  her  no  better,  had 
decided  to  adopt  the  doctor's  suggestion  and  bring 
her  to  a  warmer  climate.  Lord  Kilburn  was  of 
the  opinion  that  there  was  nothing  serious  the  mat 
ter  with  her;  that  she  had  merely  let  herself  run 
down  to  the  ground,  and  would  soon  pull  up  under 
favorable  conditions — and  those  were  plenty  of 
sunshine  and  warmth,  absolute  rest  of  her  over 
taxed  energies,  and  gentle  distraction.  Under 
these  circumstances  Dickie  had  arranged  for  a 
prolonged  leave  of  absence,  and  had  decided  to 
make  a  move  South  at  once — and  Barbadoes  nat 
urally  suggested  itself  to  them.  It  would  be  a 
great  pleasure  to  meet  "Brother  Seth"  again. 
"Brother  Seth"  was  therefore  commissioned  to  se 
cure  comfortable  rooms  for  them  at  his  hotel,  in 
cluding  a  private  sitting-room;  and  also  requested 
to  mention  Addie's  case  to  the  best  medical  man  at 


ADDIE  241 

hand  that  he  might  be  in  readiness  to  attend  the 
patient  on  her  arrival.  For  Addie  was  very 
nervous  about  herself.  They  might  be  expected, 
the  letter  concluded,  by  the  next  mail,  and  would 
cable  on  leaving. 

Seth  read  this  letter  with  a  mixture  of  feelings 
which  he  did  not  attempt  to  analyze.  He  mused 
over  it  all  day,  and  after  dinner  put  on  his  hat  to 
stroll  over  to  Woodlands  and  consult  Dr.  Leeth, 
whom  he  had  not,  up  to  now,  troubled  with  the 
recent  disquieting  news  of  Addie.  He  found  Dr. 
Leeth  on  his  veranda  smoking. 

"Hullo!"  said  the  latter.  "Glad  to  see  you. 
Sit  down.  Have  you  dined?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  came  to  consult  you  about  a  letter 
I  received  this  morning — I  am  not  detaining  you, 
am  I?" 

"No.     I've  nothing  on.     Well?" 

"My  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Dickie  Leigh,  you 
know,"  said  Seth,  sitting  down,  and  staring  before 
him  with  a  troubled  frown,  "is  in  a  very  poor  state 
of  health." 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  the  Doctor 
quickly.  "May  I  ask  what  the  trouble  is?" 

"Oh,  nothing  serious,"  instantly  returned  Seth, 
busying  himself  over  the  cigarettes  which  the  Doc 
tor  had  pushed  toward  him  across  the  little  table, 
"nothing  serious  at  all,  her  husband  assures  me — 
only  throughly  run  down." 

16 


242  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"Ah!     Has  she  been  ailing  long?" 

"No,  not  very  long." 

"She  is  being  medically  attended,  of  course?" 

"Oh,  yes  !  She's  with  her  mother  in  Ireland  just 
now,  where  she  went  for  the  change  and  rest;  but 
her  husband,  who  has  recently  joined  her  there, 
doesn't  think  her  improved.  Her  step-father  is  a 
doctor,  you  know,  although  he  does  not  practice 
now,  and  he  has  been  looking  after  her.  He  sug 
gests  a  milder,  brighter  climate  to  recuperate  in 
.  .  .  .and  so  they  are  coming — here!" 

There  was  an  insignificant  silence,  and  then  the 
Doctor  said  quickly: 

"How  nice  for  you,  Mr.  Lomack!  You  haven't 
seen  your  sister-in-law  for  many  years,  have  you?" 

"No,  not  since  her  marriage." 

"And  perhaps,  the  husband  is  an  old  friend 
too?" 

"Yes,  he  is.     And  a  jolly  good  fellow." 

"Well,  I  congratulate  you  on  their  advent,  al 
though  I  regret  the  cause,  of  course.  Still,  from 
all  accounts,  you  needn't  worry  over  that." 

"No,  I  don't.     I'm  sure  she'll  soon  pull  up." 

"When  do  you  expect  them,  Mr.  Lomack?" 

"Next  mail,  they  think.  But  I  shall  get  a  cable 
when  they  leave." 

"And  they'll  stay  with  you,  I  presume,  at  the 
Neptune?" 

"Yes.  I  have  been  commissioned  to  secure 
rooms  for  them  there." 


ADDIE  243 

"Well,  you're  not  full  up,  are  you?" 

"By  no  means.  I  got  them  comfortable  rooms 
easily." 

"I  am  very  glad." 

There  was  another  trifling  silence. 

"They  also  asked  me,"  Seth  then  timidly  pro 
ceeded,  "to  speak  to  a  physician — that  he  might 
be  prepared  to  look  after  Addie  a  bit,  as  she  is 
uneasy  about  herself.  And  I  was  wondering 
whether.  .  .  .whether — " 

Doctor  Leeth  rose,  and  began  slowly  to  pace 
the  veranda,  puffing  thoughtfully  at  his  cigarette. 
Seth  watched  him  anxiously. 

"Whether  I  would  undertake  the  case,  I  sup 
pose?"  he  said  at  last,  halting  before  his  guest. 

"Yes.     Would  you  mind?" 

"Mind!"  echoed  the  Doctor.  "That's  not  the 
question.  But  I  am  very  busy,  you  know.  .  .  . 
still,  it  is  difficult  to  refuse  one's  friends,  and  I — I 
certainly — don't  want  to." 

He  was  so  plainly  embarrassed,  appeared  so  un 
comfortably  concerned,  that  Seth  hastened  to  come 
to  his  rescue. 

"Thank  you,  Doctor,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "I 
quite  understand;  I  am  sorry  to  have  troubled 
you.  Perhaps  you  will  kindly  suggest  some  one 
else  to  me." 

"No,  you  don't  understand,"  retorted  the  Doc 
tor,  brusquely  turning  away.  "I'm  not  going  to 


244  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

suggest  any  one  else.  If  you'll  trust  me  in  the 
matter  I'll  do  my  best  for — Mrs.  Dickie  Leigh." 

"We  shall  all  be  very  thankful  if  you  will,  I  am 
sure,"  returned  Seth  simply.  "That  is  if  it's  not 
imposing  on  your  good  nature." 

"No,  it  is  not  at  all.  We  can  usually  make  time 
for  what  we  wish  to  do." 

"Ah,  you  are  very  good." 

Thus  all  Seth's  commissions  were  accomplished 
without  trouble,  and  he  awaited  the  expected  pair 
impatiently.  They  duly  arrived,  and  took  pos 
session  of  their  pleasing  rooms.  The  first  joy  of 
meeting,  and  the  incidental  confusion  of  settling 
down  over,  Seth  had  leisure  to  consider  the  pair 
dispassionately.  Dickie  Leigh  had  grown  stout, 
and  red,  and  grizzled,  as  well  as  middle-aged;  and 
the  old  boyish  corruption  of  his  name  was  no 
longer  in  keeping  with  his  appearance — neverthe 
less,  habit  is  not  .easily  broken,  and  "Dickie" 
he  would  remain  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  Addie, 
too,  was  very  much  changed  for  the  worse.  Her 
fair  hair  was  still  untouched  by  silver,  or,  if  not, 
the  silver  did  not  show  up,  and  she  was  still  slender 
and  pretty;  but  she  looked  sadly  frail,  feeble,  and 
faded.  She  seemed  incapable  of  the  effort  cf  en 
joying  anything  long,  and  even  in  the  midst  of  one 
of  those  cheerful  chats  with  poor  old  Seth,  to 
which  she  had  been  so  looking  forward,  she  would 
suddenly,  and  quite  helplessly,  lapse  into  a  tired, 
dozy  silence.  Seth  was  glad  to  note  that  she  and 


ADDIE  245 

Dickie  seemed  as  fond  of  each  other  as  of  yore, 
and  certainly  Dickie's  patient,  tender  care  of  her 
left  nothing  to  be  desired. 

At  Addie's  request  Dr.  Leeth  was  introduced  to 
her  on  the  evening  of  her  arrival,  and  then,  after 
a  few  seconds  general  conversation,  husband  and 
brother  withdrew,  and  left  the  Doctor  alone  with 
his  patient.  She  was  too  tired  to  show  any  of  the 
interest  she  felt  in  Seth's  kind  friend,  of  whom 
he  had  been  telling  her  so  much — almost  too  tired 
to  notice  him.  She  just  managed  to  answer  his 
questions  intelligently,  and  to  show  her  gratitude 
for  his  kindly  interest;  and  he  did  not  bother  her 
much,  leaving  her  quietly  and  speedily,  with  the 
impression  of  a  manner  that  was  more  than  ordi 
narily  professionally  gentle  and  reassuring.  She 
told  Seth  so  the  next  day,  remarking  how  much 
she  liked  him;  and  Seth  laughingly  assured  her 
that  he  was  not  surprised,  for,  in  spite  of  his  lack 
of  physical  attractions,  the  ladies  rapidly  lost  their 
hearts  to  Dr.  Noel  Leeth. 

"He  is  sympathetic  enough  to  be  a  woman," 
concluded  Addie,  "and  he  has  a  woman's  faculty 
of  reading  and  understanding  you  without  words." 

Seth  only  smiled  at  her  enthusiasm. 

Addie  talked  much  to  him,  too,  about  Ethel. 
She  sympathetically  understood  that  the  search 
for  her  gave  Seth  healthful  interest  and  occupa 
tion,  but  she  feared  the — to  her — inevitable  disap 
pointment  it  would  entail  would  prey  upon  him. 


246  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

Seth  tried  to  reassure  her  on  this  point;  and  al 
ways  uneasily  changed  the  conversation,  for  it  was 
difficult  to  talk  about  the  lost  sister  without  emo 
tion — and  emotion  was  bad  for  the  invalid.  Still, 
Addie  recurred  to  the  subject  again  and  again,  and 
gradually  extorted  from  Seth  all  the  details  of  his 
hunt. 

Dr.  Leeth,  as  the  days  slipped  by,  attended  his 
interesting  patient  with  fair  frequency;  but  after 
he  had  prescribed  a  tonic  for  her,  suggested  a 
course  of  diet,  and  given  her  a  little  common-sense 
advice,  he  was  careful  to  inform  her  husband  that 
his  ensuing  visits  were  purely  friendly  ones,  for 
there  was  nothing  more  to  do  for  her — she  would 
recover  her  strength  and  spirits  naturally.  Dickie 
thanked  him  carefully,  but  rather  sulkily.  Still, 
Dr.  Leeth's  visits  were  by  no  means  as  long  or  as 
frequent  as  Mrs.  Dickie  Leigh  would  have  liked, 
and  she  continually  urged  this;  but  the  Doctor's 
excuses  were  not  to  be  gainsaid,  and  Seth  kept  im 
pressing  upon  her  the  importance  of  his  time.  It 
was  strange,  considering  the  Doctor's  affability, 
and  their  indebtedness  to  his  professional  skill, 
that  Dickie  could  not  share  his  wife's  predilection 
for  him;  but,  as  has  already  been  hinted,  Dickie 
disliked  and  distrusted  him.  They  were  invariably 
courteous  when  they  met,  for  Dickie  had  sufficient 
good  feeling  to  be  grateful  to  the  little  man;  but 
they  were  unquestionably  glad  to  get  away  from 
each  other,  although  the  Doctor  liked  Dickie,  and 


ADDIE  247 

was  probably  only  disconcerted  by  the  latter's  la 
tent  hostility  toward  him. 

Seth  took  advantage  of  the  first  opportunity  af 
forded  him  to  speak  to  Dickie  upon  the  subject — 
indeed,  to  remonstrate  with  him.  They  were  alone 
together  in  the  sitting-room,  Addie  having  retired 
to  her  own  room  for  a  nap. 

"Look  here,  Dick!"  Seth  began.  "You  don't 
mean  to  tell  me  that  you  don't  like  my  friend  Dr. 
Leeth,  do  you?" 

Dick  started,  and  paused  before  replying.  He 
didn't  want  to  offend  Seth,  or  his  friend — in  the 
one  instance,  true  regard  forbade  it,  in  the  other,  a 
sense  of  obligation.  But  Dickie  was  innately  truth 
ful,  and  the  awkward  question  irritated  him. 

"Why,  I've  never  said  so!"  he  at  length  ex 
claimed  sharply.  "I'm  sure  I've  been  as  civil  and 
as  thankful  to  him  as  a  man  can  be.  I  don't  think 
I've  given  you  any  right  to  come  down  upon  me 
like  this." 

Seth  smiled  over  the  evasion. 

"No,"  he  returned.  "You  haven't  said  it,  Dick; 
but  you  looked  it  all  right  at  times  and  at  times 
you  acted  it — in  the  retiring  way,  you  know." 

"Well  now,  don't  you  think  you  are  fanciful, 
Seth?" 

"No,  I  don't.  And  you  don't  either.  So  let 
the  murder  out:  I'm  curious  over  it.  Although 
Dr.  Leeth's  my  friend,  every  man  is  welcome  to 


\ 


248  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

his  own  opinion — and  I  honestly  want  to  hear 
yours  of  him." 

"Well,  since  you  will  have  it,"  sighed  Dick, 
"you  shall!  A  man  can't  always  control  his  own 
feelings,  you  know.  I  believe  your  friend  Dr. 
Leeth  is  a  clever,  trustworthy  doctor,  and  he  has 
done  Ad  a  lot  of  good — and  I'm  sure  for  that  I 
can't  feel  more  beholden  to  you  both — for  you  pro 
cured  him  for  us — than  I  do.  But  the  man  jars 
upon  me  for  all  that,  Seth,  in  a  way  I  can't  very 
well  explain.  Trusting  him  entirely  as  a  doctor, 
I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  trust  him  as  a  man." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Seth,  with  a  heavy 
frown. 

"There  now,  you're  angry,  and  it's  not  my  fault. 
Why  wouldn't  you  leave  my  likes  and  dislikes — 
for  which,  as  I  said  just  now,  a  man  can't  be  held 
accountable — alone?  Let  us  drop  the  subject." 

"By  no  means.  I'm  not  at  all  angry,  I'm  only 
puzzled — puzzled  and  interested.  Go  on.  You'd 
trust  him  as  a  doctor  and  not  as  a  man.  ..  .ex 
plain." 

"What  I  mean  is  this,"  pursued  Dick  reluct 
antly.  "I  think,  as  a  doctor,  Leeth  would  fulfill 
conscientiously  his  duties;  as  a  man,  he  would, 
probably,  give  way  to  his  natural  tendencies." 

"And  these,  you  think,  would  not  be  to  his 
credit?" 

"Well,  I  think,  for  one  thing,  he  is  naturally  in 
clined  to  be  too  free  where  women  are  concerned." 


ADDIE  249 

Seth  stared  in  his  turn,  and  then  he  burst  into 
the  heartiest  fit  of  laughter  imaginable. 

"Why,  he  is  an  old  man,  Dick!"  he  cried,  as 
soon  as  he  could  speak. 

"What  does  that  matter?"  was  the  warm  re 
joinder. 

"Oh,  Dick,  you  never  spoke  a  greater  libel  in 
your  life!"  gasped  Seth,  beginning  to  laugh  again. 
"My  poor  slandered  friend!" 

"All  right,"  retorted  Dick  petulantly.  "Let  it 
drop  then." 

"No,  no,  let  me  convince  you.  I  am  sure  Dr. 
Leeth  never  considers  women  at  all  except  as  cases ; 
he  rather  shuns  them — in  fact,  apart  from  his  pro 
fession,  he  shuns  mankind.  His  leanings  are  all 
toward  the  recluse." 

"Was  he  ever  married?" 

"No.  He  once  told  me  himself  that  no  woman 
was  ever,  as  the  saying  runs,  'all  the  world  to 
him' ;  that  his  heart  was  buried  in  a  boy's  grave." 

"A  boy's  grave !     And  you  believe  this  fairy  / 
tale,  Seth?" 

Seth  gazed  through  the  open  window  into  the 
brightly  tinted  prospective  ere  replying;  then  his 
honest  eyes  came  back  to  Dick's  inquiring  face. 

"Frankly,"  he  said,  "yes,  I  do." 

"You  don't  think  there  was  some  woman  at  the 
back  of  that  boy?" 

"Not  in  the  sense  you  mean.  But  tell  me,  what 
has  made  you  so  suspicious  of  Dr.  Leeth?" 


250  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"He  looks  at  Addie  in  a  way  all  out  of  keeping 
with  the  circumstances,"  blurted  Dick  irritably. 
"Quite  too  tenderly,  sometimes  quite  lackadaisic 
ally.  When  he  has  to  touch  her  he  does  so  caress 
ingly.  He  speaks  to  her  too  familiarly — not  in 
words  exactly,  but  in  tone,  and  I  don't  like  it!" 

Again  Seth  laughed,  but  not  quite  so  spontan 
eously  as  before ;  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  un 
easiness. 

"All  merely  his  natural  gentleness  and  kindness 
of  heart,"  he  said.  "I  say,  Dick,  how  you  must 
have  watched  him !  Do  you  always  thus  watch 
any  one  who  comes  near  the  presence?" 

Dick  made  no  reply,  and  his  face  looked  surly. 

"  'Oh,  beware,  my  lord,  of  jealousy,'  "  quoted 
Seth  gaily;  "  '  'tis  the  green-eyed  monster  which 
doth  mock  the  meat  it  feeds  on.'  ' 

"That's  all  very  fine,"  reported  Dick;  "but  it's 
no  refutation  of  my  charge." 

"My  refutation,"  retorted  Seth,  a  little  haught 
ily,  "is  that  your  jealous  fancy  has  placed  an  ex 
aggerated  importance  on  Dr.  Leeth's  honest, 
manly  tenderness  and  sympathy  toward  a  nervous, 
suffering  woman." 

"Oh." 

"But,"  continued  Seth,  with  growing  indigna 
tion,  for  Dick's  exclamation  had  a  skeptical  ring, 
"there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be  made  un 
comfortable  over  it.  I  will  undertake  to  give  Dr. 
Leeth  a  gentle  and  subtle  hint  to  cease  his  visits." 


ADDIE  251 

"No,  no!"  cried  Dick  repentantly.  "Not  for 
the  world!  After  all  he  has  done  for  Addie,  to 
hurt  his  feelings  would  be  too  bad." 

Again  Seth's  eyes  wandered  to  the  window,  and 
dreamily  enjoyed  the  clear  bright  view. 

"You  may  trust  me,"  he  said,  with  quiet  irri- 
pressiveness,  "not  to  hurt  his  feelings." 

"No,"  returned  Dick  quickly,  "I  won't  have  it. 
Addie  likes  him,  and  she  would  miss  his  visits,  I 
can  trust  my  wife,  Seth.  And  I  won't  be  a  party 
to  such  a  mean  return  for  all  the  man's  kindness  to 
us." 

"At  least  it  would  be  more  honest,"  said  Seth, 
"than  to  let  him  come  here  on  sufferance." 

"No;  no  doubt  I  am  mistaken.  Addie  has 
heaps  of  common  sense  and  delicate  feeling,  and 
she  wouldn't  like  a  man  who  wasn't  straight.  I 
begin  to  feel  ashamed  of  myself — -but  I  didn't 
want  to  express  my  half-formed  ideas  about  your 
friend,  Seth,  only  you  would  wring  them  from 
me." 

Both  men  rose  to  terminate  the  conversation. 
Seth  turned  to  leave  the  room,  and  then  suddenly 
turned  back  and  laid  his  hand  gently  on  Addie's 
husband's  shoulder. 

"Just  a  word  more  before  we  drop  this  subject, 
Dick,"  he  said.  "You  believe  I've  got  a  little 
common  sense,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  you've  got  your  share." 


252  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"You  know  I've  knocked  about  the  world,  and 
got  my  balance  long  ago?" 

"Yes." 

"You  don't  think  I  would  lie  to  you?" 

"No." 

"Then  accept  my  solemn  assurance  that  my 
friend,  Dr.  Noel  Leeth,  is  the  nicest  man  I've 
ever  met." 

"He  may  be,"  said  the  puzzled  Dick — "the  un 
canny  little  devil !" 

Seth  strangled  a  smile. 

"You  don't  love  your  wife  any  more  jealously, 
Dick,  than  I  loved  mine,"  he  proceeded  earnestly. 
"Yet,  were  Etta  here,  I'd  trust  her  to  Doctor 
Leeth  anywhere,  and  anyhow.  .  .  .I'd  trust  him  to 
show  her  the  Infernal  Regions,  and  bring  her 
safely  back!" 

"Why,  Seth- 

"Don't  interrupt  me !  You  were  always  a  fool, 
Dickie,  and  we  must  have  patience  with  such — 
or  I'd  have  kicked  you  for  what  you  said  just 
now.  So  long!" 

"So  long;"  echoed  the  crushed  Dick,  and  sat 
down  again  to  revise  his  condemned  thoughts. 

"I  don't  care,  I  hate  the  little  beast!"  was,  how 
ever,  the  only  conclusion  he  could  come  to. 

Addie  improved  very  gradually,  but  surely; 
and,  as  she  grew  stronger  and  brighter,  she  was 
by  degrees  introduced  to  the  set  Seth  had  found  so 
enthralling.  Mrs.  Darling  and  Lala  were  her  first 


ADDIE  253 

callers,  and  to  Lala  fell  the  honor  of  extorting  the 
first  laugh  from  the  desponding  little  invalid. 
Lala  having  proved  such  a  wholesome  tonic,  came 
to  be  requisitioned  at  stated  intervals;  and  she 
grew  quite  attached  to  the  pretty  sick  lady,  who 
was  so  clever  in  keeping  her  quietly  amused,  and 
talked  to  her  so  sweetly.  It  became  one  of  Lala's 
chief  pleasure  to  go  and  "nass"  her,  and  Princess 
Ward  was  as  severely  snubbed  when  she  appeared 
to  withdraw  her  from  the  hotel  as  when  at  Wood 
lands.  Addie  would  frequently  beg  another  half 
hour  for  her  little  nurse,  and  she  had  many  a 
hearty  laugh  over  the  quaint  manner  in  which  Lala 
would  hold  up  her  tiny  forefinger  close  before  her 
own  little  face  when  she  caught  herself  dozing  off, 
in  spite  of  her  enjoyment  of  the  coveted  extra  time. 

"That's  the  wa'ast  of  you!"  she  would  exclaim 
indignantly  to  herself. 

"Why  do  you  hold  your  finger  up,  Lala?"  Ad- 
die  smilingly  asked. 

"Muvver  does  it  to  me  w'en  I'se  naughty,"  she 
explained. 

"But  you're  not  naughty  now,  darling!" 

"Yus,  I  is,"  she  returned,  solemnly  shaking  her 
head,  "I'se  goin'  seeps,  an'  I  doan'  want  to.  I 
can't  nass  you  w'en  I'se  aseep." 

"But  tired  little  girlies  must  sleep,  or  they'll  get 
sick,"  pursued  Addie  tenderly.  "And  then  they 
won't  be  able  to  help  any  one.  Come  to  me, 
Sweetheart!" 


254  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

But  now  Dickie  would  intrude  upon  the  pair, 
and  Lala  would  throw  herself  upon  him,  demand 
ing  her  favorite  story  of  "The  Cat."  It  was  a 
wonderful  story  this — quite  a  weird  one.  At  a 
certain  point  in  the  narrative  the  cat  would  give  a 
prolonged,  blood-curdling  snarl,  most  unnerving 
to  hear,  and,  at  the  same  time,  gruesomely  attrac 
tive.  You  couldn't  help  wanting  to  hear  it  des 
perately,  any  more  than  you  could  help  fleeing 
from  it  in  terror  when  it  came.  And  the  point 
was  to  take  your  little  listener  into  your  arms  and 
tell  it  to  her  while  you  walked  about  the  room. 
Lala  felt  so  weak  and  helpless  high  up  in  the  air; 
and,  as  the  dreaded  yet  awesomely  fascinating 
moment  approached  nearer  and  nearer  until  it  was 
almost  at  hand,  she  would  suddenly  cry  peremp 
torily,  "Down,  Dick!"  and  flee  to  Addie's  shelter 
ing  arms.  Then  the  sleepy  little  head  would  soon 
nestle  against  that  gentle  bosom,  and  presently 
Princess  Ward  would  for  once  take  a  peaceable 
little  charge  home. 

"It  seems,"  Dr.  Leeth  remarked,  with  a  smile, 
on  the  conclusion  of  one  of  these  occasions,  to 
which  Seth  and  himself  had  been  interested  spec 
tators,  "that  Mr.  Lomack  and  I  are  not  the  only 
ones  who  break  the  Tenth  Commandment  in  Lai's 
name." 

"No,  indeed!"  spoke  up  the  wedded  pair. 

Addie  and  Dick  were  adopted  by  acclamation 
by  the  other  members  of  the  coterie  as  well;  and 


ADDIE  255 

it  was  not  very  long  before,  to  her  own  surprise, 
Addie  found  herself  again  keenly  enjoying  such 
social  events  as  dinner  and  garden  parties  and 
little  dances.  In  acknowledgment  of  these  courte 
sies,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dickie  Leigh  gave  toward  the 
close  of  their  stay  in  Little  England  a  big  dinner 
to  their  new-found  friends,  which  elaborate  func 
tion  proved  a  most  delightful  finish  to  the  round 
of  gaiety.  It  seemed  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dicky 
Leigh's  entire  visit  to  Barbadoes  was  going  to 
pass  off  without  a  single  hitch;  but  it  is  the  unex 
pected  that  happens,  you  know,  and  the  hitch 
came  in  the  end — to  the  complete  disconcertion 
of  three  of  the  principals,  although  the  fourth  re 
mained  in  blissful  ignorance  of  it.  It  came  about 
in  this  wise. 

The  morning  after  the  above-mentioned  dinner 
Addie  rose  haggard  and  restless.  Dr.  Leeth,  call 
ing  early  on  his  morning  round  of  visits,  plainly 
saw  that  she  had  been  imposing  too  much  on  her 
newly  recovered  energies.  Having  retired  very 
late  the  preceding  night,  thoroughly  worn  out,  a 
sharp  attack  of  neuralgia  had  prevented  her  enjoy 
ing  the  few  remaining  hours  of  repose;  and  she 
had  arisen  at  the  usual  hour,  unrefreshed,  but  still 
glad  to  quit  her  thorny  couch.  On  hearing  this 
the  Doctor  promised  to  send  her  in  a  soothing 
powder  at  once,  and  recommended  her,  after  tak 
ing  it,  to  retire  again  and  try  to  get  a  little  needful 
rest.  He  then  took  his  leave. 


256  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

The  powder  was  not  long  in  making  its  appear 
ance,  but  it  was  tardy  in  its  action.  Addie  felt  no 
desire  to  go  to  bed  again,  but  continued  up,  fidget- 
ting  about.  It  was  only  after  a  slight  repast  at 
midday  that  she  began  to  feel  drowsy,  and  then 
she  lay  down  on  the  sofa  in  the  sitting-room,  and 
soon  sank  into  a  deep  repose. 

Dr.  Leeth  called  again  in  the  afternoon  to  see 
how  she  was  getting  on.  He  saw  nothing  of  Dick 
or  Seth  on  entering  the  hotel,  and  made  his  way 
at  once  to  Addie's  sitting-room.  He  knocked 
twice  at  the  door  without  obtaining  an  answer,  and 
then  softly  entered.  Dick  and  Seth  were  off  some 
where  and  the  room  was  tenanted  only  by  the 
soundly  sleeping  woman.  Dr.  Leeth  closed  the 
door  noiselessly,  and  tip-toed  over  to  the  couch 
on  which  she  was  lying.  He  looked  down  intently 
at  her  unconscious  face.  How  young  and  pretty 
she  looked,  poor  little  thing,  in  her  deep  slumber! 
He  tested  the  latter  by  speaking  to  her  softly,  and 
she  never  stirred — not  the  faintest  shadow  of  con 
sciousness  showed  itself  in  her  still  fair  face.  He 
touched  the  face  and  the  loosened  hair  with  nerv 
ously  caressing  fingers.  Did  she  remind  him  of 
any  one  he  had  loved  and  parted  with  that  he  felt 
so  tender  over  her?  It  must  have  been  so,  for  he 
suddenly  stooped  and  kissed  her.  The  instant  his 
lips  touched  her  face  he  knew  instinctively  that 
Seth  and  her  husband  were  staring  at  him,  horror- 
stricken,  from  the  doorway.  He  knew  it  quite 


ADDIE  257 

well  before  he  heard  the  door  close  and  turned  and 
faced  them. 

Dickie's  face  was  livid  with  passion,  and  he 
gasped  chokingly: 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  Seth?  What  did  I  tell 
you?  Perhaps  you'll  talk  to  me  of  fancy  now!" 

Dr.  Leeth  cursed  himself  for  his  folly  as  he 
stolidly  awaited  the  hot-tempered  husband's  on 
slaught.  Dickie,  completely  oblivious  of  his 
sleeping  wife  in  the  first  all-consuming  fire  of  his 
indignation,  advanced  upon  the  Doctor  with  up 
lifted  arm.  And  then  a  strange  thing  happened. 
Seth,  who  up  to  now  had  remained  rooted  just  in 
side  the  closed  door,  suddenly  sprang  forward, 
with  a  white,  quivering  face,  caught  Dickie's 
threatening  arm  in  a  vise-like  grip,  and  hoarsely 
muttered: 

"If  you  strike  him,  Dick,  by  Heaven,  I'll — /'// 
break  every  bone  in  your  skin!" 

Dick's  anger  changed  to  amazement  as  his  eyes 
traveled  from  the  Doctor's  passive  face  to  Seth's 
furious  one.  It  was  a  queer  tableau,  and  Dr. 
Leeth  looked  on  it  apprehensively.  In  the  stillness 
which  followed  its  formation  the  Doctor  made  his 
excuses  with  calm  dignity,  while  Addie  slept  se 
renely  on. 

"I  am  an  old  man,  Mr.  Leigh,  and,  I  beg  to  as 
sure  you,  a  gentleman.  I  meant  no  disrespect  to 
your  sweet  wife,  or  to  you;  you  will  only  be  doing 
17 


258  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

me  justice  in  believing  that  I  am  incapable  of  in 
sulting  either  of  you,  and  that  I  hold  you  both  in 
the  highest  esteem.  I  offer  you  my  most  humble 
and  sincere  apologies  for  having  thoughtlessly 
ventured  to  express  my  fatherly  interest  and  com 
passion  in  a  way  I — I  had  no  right  to !  I  will  re 
lieve  you  at  once,  and  of  course  permanently,  of 
my  undesired  acquaintanceship." 

He  bowed,  and  quitted  the  room.  Dick  turned 
to  Seth. 

"Will  you  let  me  go  now,  you  madman?"  he 
asked. 

"Will  you  accept  Dr.  Leeth's  apology?" 

"Yes — provided  he  sticks  to  his  bond,  and  keeps 
out  of  our  path  for  the  few  days  it  remains  us  to 
spend  here." 

"You  need  have  no  fear  of  that." 

With  which  reply  Seth  pushed  the  jealous  hus 
band  from  him  impatiently,  and  hastened  after  the 
Doctor.  He  caught  up  with  him  in  the  grounds 
of  the  hotel,  the  Doctor  having  walked  over  from 
Woodlands.  Seth  accompanied  him  part  of  the 
way  back  in  silence.  Then  he  stammered  hotly : 

"I'm  so  sorry,  Doctor!  But  it's — it's  really  not 
worth  thinking  about  any  more." 

The  Doctor's  face  was  coldly,  sternly  set,  but 
his  lips  trembled  ominously  when  he  spoke. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  thank  you  for  your  warm 
championship,  Mr.  Lomack,"  he  said.  "One 
should  always  be  grateful  for  such  generous  sup- 


ADDIE  259 

port,  even — even  when  it  is  a  little  out  of  keeping. 
For  really ....  you  see,  a  man  can ....  a  man 
can—" 

"A  man  can  fight  his  own  battles,"  amended 
Seth  unsteadily. 

"Why,  yes!"  falteringly  pursued  the  Doctor,  as 
he  rubbed  his  hands  together,  "even  an  old  man — 
and  I  am  not  so  very  old,  Mr.  Lomack." 

"Forgive  me,  Doctor!  .  It  was  insane  of  me,  of 
course.  I  acted  without  thinking." 

The  Doctor  laid  his  hand  cordially  upon  Seth's 
arm. 

"I'm  afraid  we  all  did,"  he  said  with  a  strange 
smile.  "But  let  it  pass — let  it  pass !" 


CHAPTER   XVI 

TILL  THE  SEA  GIVES  UP  ITS  DEAD 

Well,  Addie  and  Dickie  departed  and  were 
much  missed  by  those  they  left  behind  them,  es 
pecially  by  Seth  and  Dr.  Leeth.  Addie  won 
dered  fretfully  at  the  abrupt  cessation  of  Dr. 
Leeth's  visits  to  her,  and  Seth  left  it  to  her  hus 
band  to  explain,  and  Dickie  preferred  not  to  ex 
plain  at  all.  However,  before  they  departed,  that 
they  might  be  mutually  gratified,  Seth  contrived 
an  apparently  accidental  meeting  between  Dr. 
Leeth  and  Addie.  The  Doctor,  charged  as  a  rank 
deserter  by  his  late  fair  patient,  instantly  saw  that 
she  had  not  been  enlightened  as  to  the  cause,  and, 
pleading  intense  occupation,  wished  her  farewell 
and  Godspeed  with  all  due  interest  and  respect. 

Even  Othello  and  Cassio  shook  hands.  And 
now  Dr.  Leeth  was  beginning  to  droop. 

Dr.  Leeth  had  been  secretly  ailing  for  some 
time  before  those  about  him  began  to  notice  it; 
for  the  Doctor  had  a  horror  of  complaining  and 
coddling  himself,  and  his  wonderful  will-power 
kept  him  brisk  and  doing  when  just  ordinarily 
gifted  people  would  have  found  it  impossible  to 
disguise  and  conquer  the  truth.  But  it  had  to  leak 
out  in  the  end,  of  course ;  and  even  then  he  answer- 


TILL  THE  SEA  GIVES  UP  ITS  DEAD          261 

ed  all  anxious  inquiries  as  brusquely  and  lightly  as 
possible. 

No,  he  was  "not  feeling  quite  up  to  the  mark," 
but  it  was  "nothing  to  talk  about."  It  would  soon 
pass." 

However,  his  indisposition  did  not  wear  off,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  increased  alarmingly.  He  began 
to  look,  as  he  felt,  utterly  worn  out.  His  appre 
hensive  friends  urged  him  unceasingly  to  take  a 
rest  and  change,  and  this,  in  the  end,  he  felt  un 
willingly  compelled  to  do.  For  not  even  his 
strong,  tireless  mind  could  now  force  any  more 
work  out  of  his  throughly  exhausted  body.  So  he 
made  all  the  necessary  arrangements  about  his 
practice;  and,  as  he  had  a  natural  leaning  toward 
the  sea,  he  decided  to  begin  his  holiday  by  taking 
his  passage  in  the  next  steamer  for  England. 
These  plans  made,  he  called  on  Seth  5n  the  evening 
and  communicated  them  to  him. 

"Well,  I'm  awfully  glad  you've  given  in  at 
last!"  cried  Seth,  much  relieved.  "I  believe  if 
you  had  held  out  much  longer  you'd  have  smashed 
up  altogether." 

"Yes,"  assented  the  Doctor.  "I  believe  I 
should.  It's  that  conviction  that  has  conquered 
me.  But  I  give  in  most  reluctantly,  I  assure  you. 
I'd  a  million  times  rather  work  than  play." 

"A  judicious  mixture  is,  however,  advisable," 
retorted  Seth,  "and  I  don't  believe  you've  ever 
gone  in  for  it.  I  suppose  you  haven't  given  your- 


262  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

self  a  holiday  for  a  century — and  you  a  teacher 
of  physiology !  Come  !  Confess  to  it." 

"Not  quite  so  long,"  smiled  the  Doctor.  "But 
certainly  not  for  a  very  long  while." 

"Ah!  I  was  sure  of  it.  You  look  it,"  said 
Seth,  scrutinizing  the  Doctor's  haggard  face  un 
easily. 

"I've  been  too  interested  in  my  work,  you  see, 
Mr.  Lomack." 

"Exactly.  Well,  it's  had  more  than  its  fair 
share  of  attention,  and  I'm  very  pleased  to  hear 
that  you  are  going  to  give  the  other  side  of  life 
a  look  in  before  you  collapse  altogether.  A  sea- 
voyage  is  a  good  start — there's  no  place  like  board- 
ship  for  absolute  rest  and  quiet,  and  that's  all  you 
want  to  put  you  right  again." 

"Well— perhaps!" 

"No  'perhaps'  about  it!"  cried  Seth  cheerfully. 
"You're  just  overworked." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  mused  the  Doctor.  "And 
then  you  know,  Mr.  Lomack,  I  need  a  change  of 
climate  too,  I  think.  This  climate  is  a  glorious 
one,  but  too  much  of  a  good  thing  is  as  bad  as 
none  at  all,  as  our  copy-books  used  to  remind  us : 
and  I've  been  a  fixture  here  now  for  a  great  number 
of  years — a  breath  of  something  less  pleasant  but 
more  bracing  is,  no  doubt,  desirable.  The  judi 
cious  mixture  again,  eh?" 

"Exactly!"  responded  Seth  heartily.  "Why, 
I've  not  been  here  so  long,  Doctor,  and,  Heaven 


TILL  THE  SEA  GIVES  UP  ITS  DEAD  263 

knows,  I  am  enjoying  all  this!"  He  paused  and 
glanced  expressively  about  him.  "Still  I  believe  a 
change  would  freshen  me  up.  My  mother-in-law 
is  bothering  me  to  pay  her  a  visit  to  Ireland,  and, 
do  you  know,  I've  a  good  mind  to  go  to  England 
with  you,  Doctor." 

"Do!"  cried  the  Doctor  eagerly.  "Come  along 
by  all  means.  I  shall  be  mighty  glad  of  your 
companionship." 

And  so  it  was  finally  arranged.  When  the 
Amazon  left  Barbados  the  following  week,  Dr. 
Leeth  and  Seth  were  on  board. 

For  the  first  half  of  the  voyage  they  were 
favored  with  bright  still  weather,  and  glided 
steadily  over  a  glass-like  sea;  but  after  that  a 
swift  and  appalling  change  fell  suddenly  upon 
them.  They  awoke  one  morning  to  find  them 
selves  in  the  grasp  of  a  furious  storm.  The  wind 
howled,  the  sea  raged,  the  inky  heavens  lightened 
and  thundered.  The  frightened  passengers  hud 
dled  together  in  the  saloon.  The  deck  was  for 
bidden  them,  for  the  Amazon  kept  it  almost  at 
right-angles  with  the  mountainous  sea,  now  on 
this  side  and  now  on  that.  But  that  same  sea  was 
a  magnificent,  if  unnerving,  sight,  as  it  rose  in 
rapidly  succeeding  threatening  walls,  mast-high  it 
seemed,  and  broke  with  a  thundering  deafening 
roar  over  the  straining,  quivering  ship.  Its  force 
struck  her  decks  continually  with  the  report  of  a 
cannon,  and  every  now  and  then,  in  her  frantic 


264  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

plunges,  she  would  lift  her  screw  out  of  the  water 
and  there  would  follow  a  ghastly,  sickening  sen 
sation  as  if  she  were  scraping  her  keel  over 
knife-edged  rocks.  The  engines  were  practically 
stopped,  for  the  captain  feared  to  push  her  through 
such  a  sea;  she  had  all  the  strain  laid  on  her  that 
she  could  possibly  bear,  and  more  it  seemed,  as 
the  hours  lengthened  into  days  without  bringing 
any  abatement  of  the  fury  of  the  elements,  more 
than  she  was  going  to  bear.  So  she  lay,  poor, 
caught,  tortured  thing,  with  the  monstrous  seas 
crashing  over  her,  leaking,  it  seemed,  at  every  pore, 
groaning  in  every  screw,  writhing  in  every  plank. 
The  awesome  throbbing  of  the  pumps,  the  sicken 
ing  straining  of  the  steamer,  the  relentless  uproar 
of  the  storm,  the  hysterical  whimpering  of  the 
women,  and  the  sharp  wail  of  the  children  were 
the  tunes  to  which  the  self-contained  male  passen 
gers  struggled  perfunctorily  through  their  meals 
and  through  the  intervening  hours  of  the  daytime. 
The  officers  went  about  their  duties  with  a  stern 
reserve  which  forbade  questioning,  but  their  grave 
faces  were  not  reassuring.  There  were  plenty  of 
gruesome  accidents  among  the  poor  seamen :  men 
swept  overboard,  heads  cut  open,  limbs  shivered; 
and,  on  the  third  day  of  the  storm,  the  harassed 
ship's  doctor  presented  a  piteously  wan,  disheveled 
appearance,  not  having  had  his  clothes  off  for  three 
nights.  Dr.  Leeth,  the  only  other  medico  on 


TILL  THE  SEA  GIVES  UP  ITS  DEAD  265 

board,  helped  him  valiantly,  however;  and  still 
the  storm  raged  on. 

The  room  above  the  saloon  was  a  combined 
library,  music  and  drawing-room,  and  a  large  cir 
cular  opening  in  its  centre,  railed  round,  afforded 
a  pretty  comprehensive  view  of  the  saloon  beneath. 
This  upper  room  was  practically  deserted,  for  the 
dismal  lunges  of  the  ship  were  more  perceptible 
here,  of  course,  than  on  the  deck  below.  On  the 
afternoon  of  the  third  day  only  Dr.  Leeth  clung 
to  this  circular  railing,  and  gazed  down  compas 
sionately  on  his  terror-stricken  fellow-passengers. 
He  did  not  feel  exactly  comfortable  himself, — far 
from  it! — but  his  habitual  self-possession  had  not 
deserted  him  and  it  cloaked  his  feelings  well.  He 
was  joined  presently  by  Seth. 

"Well,"  said  the  latter,  with  forced  sprightli- 
ness,  "once  let  me  get  my  foot  off  her,  and  she'll 
never  have  another  chance  to  be  at  my  funeral ! 
I  wonder  how  long  this  racket  is  going  to  keep  up  ? 
Deuced  unpleasant,  isn't  it?"  He  glanced  at  his 
companion  briefly  but  searchingly. 

"Ah!"  returned  the  Doctor  quietly,  "I  don't 
think  it  will  be  over  soon,  and  I  don't  think  she'll 
stand  much  more  of  it  either." 

"You  don't?" 

"No,  I  don't!" 

"You  take  it  coolly  enough,"  said  Seth  admir 
ingly. 

"What's  the  use  of  doing  otherwise?" 


266  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"None  at  all,  of  course." 

They  examined  each  other's  faces  steadily  now, 
with  that  curious  calmness  which  the  close 
approach  of  the  inevitable  always  mercifully 
brings.  Then  Seth  realized  that  the  supreme  mo 
ment  was  at  hand — the  moment  for  which  he  had 
long  yearned,  and  which  he  had  pictured  in  a 
thousand  bright  settings — but,  oh,  God,  never  like 
this,  never  like  this !  The  moment  when  he  might 
safely  break  the  cruel  silence  he  had  imposed  upon 
himself.  He  freed  one  hand,  and  put  that  arm 
timidly  round  the  Doctor,  and  bent  his  head  over 
him. 

"Ethel!"  he  whispered  humbly,  pleadingly. 

Was  it  the  force  of  her  own  surprise  and 
emotion  that  threw  her  staggering  against  him,  or 
the  sickening  lurch  of  the  doomed  ship?  He 
never  knew.  Her  voice  was  rather  breathless 
when  she  spoke,  but  it  might  have  been  from  either 
cause. 

"How  did  you  guess?.  .  .  .How  long  have  you 
known?"  she  gasped. 

"I  think  I  have  only  really  known  since — since 
the  day.  of  your  last  child's  party,"  he  stammered, 
"when  Lala  recited  the  'Tuggard'  to  us,  you  know. 
But,  oh,  Ethel,  I  think  I've  been  gradually  guess 
ing  the  truth  ever — ever  since  the  first  evening  I 
spent  at  your  house.  There  was  something  about 
your  eyes  and  smile  then  that  fixed  my  attention 
and  subtly  grew  faintly  familiar,  although  I  could 


TILL  THE  SEA  GIVES  UP  ITS  DEAD          267 

not,  try  as  I  would,  divine  how  or  why.  Then  I 
soon  got  to  feel  a  queer  tenderness  toward  you,  the 
stranger,  which  puzzled  me  vastly.  And  on  that 
stormy  evening,  you  know,  when  you  came  to  my 
room  at  the  Neptune  and  were  examining  my 
photographs,  I  first  realized  the  likeness  to  Ethel  in 
you.  It  was  that,  and  not  the  lightning,  which 
knocked  me  over.  But  it  didn't  suffice  to  convince 
me.  I  merely  thought  I  must  be  crazy — that 
dwelling  on  the  one  thought  had  turned  my  brain. 
Still,  I  couldn't  resist  the  blind  Impulse  to  assure 
you  that  /  had  not  forgotten  Ethel,  that  I  should 
always  be  thankful  I  had  sought  her.  You  re 
member?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,"  "I  remember." 

"I  tried,  afterward,  to  gather  some  particulars 
of  your  antecedents  from  your  intimate  friends; 
for,  if  I  did  not  know  you,  you  had,  nevertheless, 
aroused  a  fever  of  curiosity  within  me.  But  I  was 
not  successful;  they  were  so  cautious.  Either 
they  knew  nothing,  or  they  would  not  tell." 

"They  knew  but  little,  truly,"  she  returned, 
"but  I  am  glad  to  hear  they  were  so  loyal." 

"Then,"  pursued  Seth,  "to  come  to  that  grand 
day  when  the  truth  came  home  to  me,  the  day  of 
your  last  child's  party — you  remember,  after  the 
children  had  dispersed,  that  I  stayed  and  talked  to 
you  about  a  book  you  had  been  reading,  a  bock 
which  you  said  had  helped  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  again,  "I  remember." 


268  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

"The  page  you  seemed  to  have  consulted  often- 
est,"  went  on  Seth,  "dealt  with  the  removal  by 
some  chemical  of  ink-writing  without  leaving  any 
mark.  That  puzzled  me  tremendously.  I  ques 
tioned  the  possibility  of  it,  but  you  were  certain 
of  it — yet  you  did  not  wander  on  to  the  subject 
of  what  interest  such  a  matter  held  for  you,  as  I 
hoped  you  would.  So  I  dropped  it.  I  began 
to  play  with  the  letters  Lala  had  given  me  to 
make  a  name  with.  Three  of  them  happening  to 
be  together — E  T  H — naturally  suggested  the 
name  always  in  my  mind;  and,  without  dreaming 
of  success,  I  idly  tried  to  spell  out  Ethel  Leon. 
That  I  was  successful  dumbfounded  me!  And  in 
stinctively  I  wanted  to  keep  the  fact  from  you! 
You  were  absorbed  in  the  book  I  had  laid  down — 
if  you  have  not  forgotten?" 

"No,  I  have  not  forgotten." 

"So  I  jumbled  my  letters  together  again,  and 
fell  back  in  my  chair;  and,  when  you  looked  up,  I 
asked  you  as  calmly  as  I  could  what  name  Lala 
could  have  given  me.  You  guessed  your  own  at 
once,  and  mine  to  you.  And  so  it  was.  This,  on 
the  top  of  all  I  had  noted  before,  seemed  to  me  at 
last  conclusive.  You  may  imagine  what  I  felt ! 
Little  things  which  had  puzzled  me  before  about 
you,  I  could  now  explain.  'The  boy's  grave,'  for 
instance  meant  poor  Reggie  Law's — though  I 
never  guessed  until  then  that  that  old,  childish 
romance  meant  so  much  to  you,  Ethel !  Well,  you 


TILL  THE  SEA  GIVES  UP  ITS  DEAD          269 

were  called  away,  and  I  refused  to  drive  with  you. 
When  you  were  gone  I  re-entered  your  house  and 
went  straight  to  your  office.  In  the  light  of  my 
newly  born  conviction  the  favored  page  from 
'Sister  Rose'  took  a  startling  clear  significance.  I 
examined  Dr.  Noel  Leeth's  diploma  carefully,  and 
for  the  first  time;  and  I  felt  as  sure  of  what  name 
it  had  originally  presented,  and  why  it  had  been 
altered,  and  how  it  had  been  altered — as  if  you  had 
stood  by  me  at  the  time  explaining  it  all  with  your 
own  lips.  My  surroundings  faded  away  from  me. 
I  seemed  to  be  back  in  Pacific  Street,  hearing  you 
say  again,  'How  I  would  enjoy  a  fight  that  would 
prove  me  of  some  worth,  and  so  make  life  seem 
worth  living!  A  good  bracing,  mettlesome  con 
test — ah,  there's  nothing  like  it.  I  ought  to  have 
been  a  man,  Seth — I  might  have  gone  out  to  seek 
it  then — I  ought  to  have  been  a  man !'  ' 

"How  well  you  remember!"  she  faintly  smiled. 
"And  you  never  gave  me  a  hint  that  you  knew — 
why?" 

"Ah,  you  don't  know  how  I  wanted  to,  dear. 
But  I  was  afraid  that  you  would  send  me  from 
you,  fearing  that  I  might  at  some  time  or  other 
inadvertently  compromise  your  hard,  splendidly 
earned  position.  So  I  kept  up  the  search  for 
Ethel  purely  as  a  blind — and  I  succeeded  well,  did 
I  not?  You  never  dreamed  I  knew?" 

"No;    though  at  times  your  eyes  and  manner 


270  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

made  me  nervous — vaguely  apprehensive.     Never 
more  so  than  when  I  kissed  Addle." 

"Ah!" 

"You  hastened  to  reassure  me  though,"  she 
smiled  tremulously. 

"Yes.  I  was  so  afraid  of  being  shut  away  from 
you,  Ethel!  From  the  moment  I  found  you,  I 
was  resolved — resolved  indeed  before  I  ever  began 
my  search — to  pass  the  rest  of  my  days  at  your 
side.  Your  companionship  is  the  dearest  thing 
in  the  world  to  me  now." 

"Faithful  old  Seth!"  she  murmured.  "I  can 
never  tell  you  what  a  boon  it's  been  to  me  to  see 
you,  and  have  you  near  me  again.  Believe  me,  the 
silence  tried  me,  too,  Seth,  but  I  dared  not  break 
it — for  the  reason  you  have  guessed." 

"And  now  tell  me,  Ethel,  however  did  you  man 
age  it  all?" 

"Ah,  just  with  pains!"  she  returned.  "With 
infinite  pains !  I've  written  a  detailed  account  of 
it  for  those  I  love  who  may  survive  me,  and  they'll 
be  reading  it  before  long  I  believe.  No  one  has 
ever  suspected  me,  Seth !  I've  made  a  good  man, 
have  I  not?" 

"Capital!"  he  said  dreamily. 

"Hush!"  she  now  cried  peremptorily.  "Here's 
the  ship's  doctor  coming  this  way.  Take  your 
arm  away,  Seth!  Ethel  Leon  is  dead,  and  it  is 
out  of  your  power  to  revive  her." 


TILL  THE  SEA  GIVES  UP  ITS  DEAD  271 

"Out  of  my  power?"  he  echoed,  as  he  quiver- 
ingly  obeyed  her. 

"Yes,"  she  smiled  bravely.  "You  never  told 
tales  out  of  school  in  your  life,  Seth.  It  is  too  late 
for  you  to  begin  now.  Ethel  Leon  was  an  aching 
failure :  Noel  Leeth  is  successful  and  happy.  He 
trusts  you — and  you  must  respect  him  !" 

The  ship's  doctor  here  joined  them  and  a  mo 
mentous  conversation  ensued. 

The  poor  old  Amazon  was  gradually  breaking 
up — there  was  no  longer  any  possibility  of  dis 
guising  the  fact!  She  had  fought  long  and  well, 
but  a  deadly  perseverance  on  the  part  of  her  all- 
powerful  foe  had  mastered  her  in  the  end,  as  all 
had  forseen.  All  her  boats,  save  two,  had  been 
swept  away.  If  the  sea  had  subsided  at  all  there 
would  be  an  attempt  to  lower  these  for  the  women 
and  children — at  present,  it  was  impossible. 

Later  the  sea  did  subside  a  little,  and  the  sobbing 
women  and  children  were  mustered  together. 
The  storm,  however,  was  still  bad  enough, 
Heaven  knows,  and  that  the  Amazon  was  not 
going  to  keep  above  it  long  was  clear  to  all.  The 
men  stood  apart;  and,  among  them,  colorless  and 
worn,  but  outwardly,  at  least,  supremely  calm, 
stood  Dr.  Noel  Leeth. 

Seth  drew  him  aside,  out  of  the  hearing  of  the 
others.  Together  they  stood  on  the  streaming, 
rocking  deck,  grasping  the  rod  against  the  parti- 


272  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

tion  wall  behind  them  to  keep  themselves  from 
falling.  Then  Seth  spoke. 

"I'll  respect  the  situation  no  longer!"  he  cried. 
"Ethel,  you  shall  take  your  due  place  with  the 
women  and  children !  Do  you  hear  me,  you  mad 
thing?  I  insist  upon  it!" 

She  looked  up  at  him.  There  was  not  a  drop 
of  color  in  her  face;  her  pallid  lips  were  trem 
bling;  her  fine  eyes  moist  with  tears.  But, 
through  those  same  swimming  eyes  a  transcendent 
light  now  broke — all  courage,  all  resolution.  She 
put  his  command  from  her  effectually,  contemp- 
tously — by  ignoring  it  grandly. 

"I — I  found  my  world  to  struggle  with  and  con 
quer,  didn't  I,  Seth?"  she  gasped  triumphantly, 
now  straining  forward  with  the  motion  of  the  ship, 
now  jerked  back  and  bruised  against  the  partition 
behind  her,  now  again  shaking  her  head  and  blink- 
as  the  briny  spray  flicked  her  death-like  face.  It's 
worn  me  out  perhaps ....  I  had  a  presentiment 
that  I  should  never  recover  my  old  robust  health 
....  I  feel  I  am  breaking  up  for  good.  But,  at 
least,  I  have  not  lived  in  vain.  Few  see  their  am 
bitions  realized,  as  I  have  done ....  I  thank  God 
for  it ....  I  thank  Him  that  I  have  not  lived  in 
vain!" 

Her  irrelevance  was  magnificently  pathetic,  but 
he  dared  not  let  it  influence  him. 

"No,"  he  returned  hurriedly  and  roughly;  "you 
haven't  lived  in  vain,  and  now  don't,  like  a  fool, 


TILL  THE  SEA  GIVES  UP  ITS  DEAD  273 

die  in  vain.  /  tell  you  I  cannot  bear  to  see  it, 
Ethel!  Come !  There's  no  time  to  lose.  I'll  do 
all  the  explaining,  quickly  and  well.  Trust  me. 
Only  come.  .  .  .come  at  once!" 

The  first  boat  was  lowered,  and  went  on  her 
perilous  way.  The  second  was  being  rapidly  made 
ready.  The  Amazon  was  beginning  to  incline 
her  bows  downward.  Seth  felt  maddened;  he 
reiterated  his  plea.  She  merely  glanced  fleetingly 
at  the  group  he  indicated,  and  slightly  shook  her 
head.  She  tightened  her  hold  upon  the  rod  be 
hind  her,  and  gazed  serenely  before  her  over  that 
awesome  sea. 

And  now  from  amongst  the  huddled,  stricken 
group  of  passengers  some  one  suddenly  found  voice 
and  falteringly  broke  into  that  familiar  hymn  of 
pleading  for  those  in  their  sore  strait,  and  his 
silent  companions  soon  found  the  courage  to  join 
in.  So,  above  the  storm  and  stress  encompassing 
them,  their  wavering  voices  rose  and  fell  with 
weird  pathos : 

"  'Oh,  hear   us  when   we  cry  to  Thee 
For   those   in   peril   on   the   sea !' " 

It  hushed  the  sobbing  of  the  women  and  chil 
dren,  but  Seth  wanted  to  put  his  fingers  in  his 
ears ....  let  go ....  give  up ....  anything  to  shut 
out  that  piteous  wail.  He  mastered  the  impulse 
with  difficulty.  He  looked  at  Ethel,  and  saw  how 
she,  too,  was  tortured. 

18 


274  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

He  attempted  to  drag  her  away,  but  she  was  not 
to  be  moved.  The  second  boat  was  being  lowered. 
He  called  out  to  them  to  stop,  but  in  all  the  noise 
and  confusion  about  them  no  one  heard  or  heeded 
him.  He  called  out  again. 

"Oh,  hush!"  It  was  Ethel's  voice,  through  the 
chaos  and  the  hymn,  and  she  had  cautiously  freed 
one  hand  and  passed  it  affectionately  through  his 
arm.  She  pressed  his  arm  close.  He  looked  down 
on  her  dumbly  now.  The  end  was  at  hand. 

"It's — it's  been  a  glorious  fight,  Seth,"  she 
panted  in  her  keen  emotion.  "I — I  wouldn't  have 
missed  it  for  the  world!  But  I'm  all  tired  and  all 
broken  up  now,  old  friend.  .  .  .I'm  glad  to  rest — 
with  you!" 


EPILOGUE 

Paper  found  by  the  Executors  of  the  late  Dr.  Noel 
Lecth,  Henry  Barker,  and  Charles  Redwood 
Sand, — and  superscribed  to  be  sent  by  them, 
unopened,  to  the  Countess  Kilburne,  Kilburne 
Castle,  Co.  Dublin;  in  the  event  of  her  death, 
to  Mrs.  Richard  Leigh,  c/o  Jonas  Living 
stone  and  Bros.,  Tokio;  and  in  event  of  her 
death  to  Seth  Lomack  and  Sons,  Wall  Street, 
New  York. 

I,  the  undersigned,  of  "Woodlands,"  Barbados, 
West  Indies,  do  solemnly  declare  this  to  be  a  faith 
ful  account  of  how  I  accomplished  my  transfor 
mation  from  Dr.  Ethel  Leon  to  Dr.  Noel  Leeth. 

I  leave  this  paper  for  the  satisfacton  of  those 
members  of  my  family  who  may  survive  me. 
Having  failed  to  succeed  as  a  lady-doctor  in  the 
City  of  New  Orleans,  U.  S.  A.,  where  I  made  my 
start,  and  having  been  forced  to  realize  that  sex 
stood  in  the  way  of  my  advancement,  I  was  for 
some  time  at  a  serious  loss  what  to  do  for  the 
best.  Although  not  obliged  to  earn  my  living,  I 
was  far  too  interested  in  my  profession  to  abandon 
it,  and  far,  far  too  energetic  and  ambitious  to  be 
satisfied  to  do-practically-nothing  in  it.  Yet, 
brood  over  the  situation  as  long  and  as  frequently 


276  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

as  I  would,  I  could  see  no  solution  to  my  difficulty. 
While  in  this  distressed  and  undecided  state  of 
mind,  I  went  one  evening  to  the  theatre  with  some 
friends.  The  piece  was  an  exaggerated  musical 
comedy,  in  which  the  principal  female  part  was 
played  by  a  man — and  a  superb  piece  of  imper 
sonation  it  was.  The  curtain  descended  on  the 
first  act,  and  I,  forgetful  for  once  of  myself  and  my 
woes,  was  placidly  and  admiringly  considering  the 
extraordinary  adaptability  of  the  star-impersonat 
or,  when  my  friend,  Nurse  Kenworthy,  turned  to 
me  with  a  casual  remark,  which,  by  unconsciously 
suggesting  to  my  lulled  brain  the  only  possible 
solution  to  my  temporarily  forgotten  perplexity, 
knocked  me,  for  the  time  being,  off  my  balance. 
That  I  should  have  thought  so  much  of  my  unpro 
mising  future — and  then  been  oblivious  of  it  at  the 
very  time  that  the  key  to  its  mystery  was  being  held 
up  before  my  eyes !  It  seemed  incredible !  Never 
mind.  My  self-shame  was  quickly  lost  sight  of  in 
my  secret  and  overpowering  gratitude  to  dear 
Nurse  Kenworthy  for  having,  all  unwittingly, 
roused  me  to  a  sense  of  my  good  fortune  by  press 
ing  that  same  key  upon  me.  I  showered  blessings 
upon  her  then,  I  do  so  now,  I  will  do  so  at  the 
last.  .  .  .but  she  didn't  know  it,  she  doesn't  know 
it,  in  all  probability  she  never  will  know  it.  What 
she  said,  dear  woman,  was  this : 

"How  splendidly  that  man  takes  off  a  woman ! 
I  declare  the  deception  is  perfect.     See  what  pains- 


EPILOGUE  277 

taking  can  accomplish !  I  wish  the  women  would 
learn  to  personate  a  man  as  well — and  most  of 
them  could,  I  am  sure,  if  they'd  only  take  the 
trouble,  consider  every  detail,  as  he  has.  But  a 
woman's  man  is  always  so  frankly  absurd,  and  she 
is  satisfied  with  it!" 

She  trailed  off  into  some  remarks  about  some 
patients  of  mine  present,  but  I  could  hardly  answer 
her.  To  see  my  so  long  dark  and  threatening 
future  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  brighten  and 
clear  before  me  was  not  to  be  borne  without 
emotion,  and  I  showed  mine  sadly. 

"This  is  what  /  must  do, — this  is  what  /  must 
do!"  I  kept  saying  to  myself,  over  and  over  again, 
in  reference  to  my  friend's  enlightening  remarks  on 
the  star  of  the  evening — my  blessings  on  him  too ! 
Do  it  as  well  as  he.  .  .  .yes,  yes,  of  course  I  can! 
"Simply  by  considering  every  detail  as  he  has 
done!"  Only  accomplish  that,  and  the  career  my 
heart  is  set  on  is  easily  and  prosperously  mine ! 

With  my  brain  bounding  and  humming  to  this 
tune,  I  answered  Nurse  Kenworthy's  ensuing  ob 
servations  on  the  Keystones  absently,  and,  auto 
matically  following  the  motions  of  her  fan, 
acknowledged  their  greeting.  By  this  time  she 
and  the  rest  of  our  party  noticed  my  emotion,  but 
they  attributed  it  to  indisposition.  They  wished 
me  to  leave  the  theatre,  but  I  stoutly  refused, 
making  light  of  the  tumult  of  thought  within  me. 
I  tried  to  still  it — to  postpone  it  until  I  was  alone ; 


278  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

but  the  tumult  had  passed  beyond  my  control,  and 
thought  after  thought  of  increasing  magnitude 
kept  breaking  over  me,  with  the  booming,  breath 
taking  violence  of  the  restless  waves  upon  the  sea 
shore.  My  ears  were  singing,  my  mind  was  con 
fused,  my  sight  was  blurred !  I  could  not,  for  my 
life,  tell  you  a  single  detail  of  the  last  act  of  that 
memorable  play,  although  I  kept  my  eyes  reso 
lutely  upon  the  stage  from  the  rising  of  the  curtain 
to  its  final  fall.  One  unutterable  wish,  however, 
stood  out  sharp  and  strong  from  the  chaos  within 
me — Oh,  to  be  at  home  again ....  at  home  and 
alone.  .  .  .to  be  able  to  cease  fighting,  and  give 
myself  up  entirely  to  my  deliciously  bewildering 
because  promising  thoughts — give  myself  up  to 
them  without  care,  because  beyond  the  reach  of 
curious,  questioning  eyes! 

At  last  it  was  so.  I  was  alone  in  my  room  at 
my  boarding  house,  Mrs.  Rice's,  and,  tearing  off 
my  things,  I  sat  down  to  think  my  purpose  out.  I 
thought  the  night  through,  but  by  dawn  I  had  con 
sidered  and  arranged  for  everything.  Let  me  see 
if  I  can  set  down  my  thoughts  consecutively. 

To  begin  with,  I  was  going  to  cast  away  my 
hampering  sex,  and  become  a  man.  .  .  .not  a 
woman's  stage  man,  but  a  man  who  must  pass 
muster  among  his  fellow-men,  and  win  a  place  for 
himself  in  life's  busy  throng.  Could  I  do  it?  I 
thought  so.  Nature  had  kindly  given  me  a  fair 
stature  for  a  woman,  an  uncompromising  figure,  a 


EPILOGUE  279 

strongly  marked  face,  and  large  feet  and  hands. 
I  could  pass  very  well,  I  thought,  as  a  slender 
middle-sized  young  man.  Fortunately,  I  was  a 
good  mimic  too;  I  must  give  special  attention 
henceforth  to  men's  attitudes  and  mannerisms,  and 
take  pains  with  my  voice.  Here  again  Nature  had 
been  kind  to  me,  my  voice  was  naturally  rather 
full  and  deep,  and  pains  could  easily  make  it  more 
so.  There  was  only  my  one  beauty,  my  hair,  to 
sacrifice.  It  was  long  and  thick  and  very  straight; 
I  would  cut  it  close,  and  curl  it  for  further  dis 
guise — men  have  resorted  to  the  curling-tongs 
before  me  with  far  less  justifiable  excuse !  I  would 
also  wear  glasses — harmless  glasses — to  make  me 
look  more  important  and  learned,  and  bury  Ethel 
Leon  the  deeper. 

Then  as  to  my  name — what  name  should  I  take? 
Naturally  enough  my  mind  began  at  once  to  play 
with  the  letters  of  my  own  name,  and  I  gradually 
thought  what  a  capital  thing  it  would  be  if  I 
could  transform  my  Christian  name  into  a  passable 
surname  and  my  surname  into  a  man's  Christian 
name.  There  would  be  less  liklihood,  in  that  way, 
of  one  name  suggesting  the  other,  and  I  could 
subtly  retain  my  own  name,  for  which  I  had  a 
weakness.  Fond  of  my  own  name!  Yes,  I  cer 
tainly  was,  as  of  an  old  friend,  and  I  am  not 
singular  in  this,  I  think.  Certainly  I  have  heard 
loved  and  loving  wives  confess  to  a  longing  to 
hear  themselves  addressed  once  more  by  their 


280  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

maiden  names.  Does  this  not  imply  that  an  affec 
tion  for  names  is  possible,  and  can  be  strong?  Be 
that  as  it  may  be,  it  was  through  this  affectionate 
clinging  of  mine,  abnormal  or  otherwise,  to  the 
name  my  dear  parents  had  given  me,  that  I  eventu 
ally  evolved  Noel  Leeth.  I  fell  in  love  with  my 
old  familiar  name  in  its  strange  disguising  dress 
directly,  and  have  never  wavered  in  my  allegiance. 

Next  came  the  question  on  what  new  field  of 
action  should  Dr.  Noel  Leeth  disport  himself? 
For,  of  course,  he  must  have  an  entirely  new  field 
in  order  to  do  himself  full  justice.  I  quickly  de 
cided  on  the  West  Indies,  for  all  I  had  heard  of 
them  from  my  good  friend  Mr.  Keystone,  a  native 
of  St.  Kitts,  had  strongly  appealed  to  me — I  loved 
warmth  and  sunshine  and  pure  air,  and  a  simple, 
quiet  mode  of  living — provided  it  was  not  stag 
nant;  and  I  selected  Barbados  as  the  most  enter 
prising  of  the  attractive  Carribean  group. 

Then  how  should  I  accomplish  my  proposed 
transformation?  Instantly  I  saw  the  absolute  ne 
cessity  of  a  complete  solitude  and  isolation,  and  I 
determined  on  taking  a  retired  cottage  on  the  plea 
of  starting  housekeeping,  where,  if  I  were  super 
vised  at  all  in  my  dangerous  and  hazardous  under 
taking,  it  would  be  entirely  my  own  fault. 

And  last  came  the  difficult  problem  of  the  name 
on  my  medical  certificate — how  was  I  to  deal  with 
that?  Dispense  with  one,  and  brazen  the  position 
out  with  a  plausible  lie.  No,  not  if  there  were  any 


EPILOGUE  28l 

other  alternative.  I  could  not  dispense  with  one 
without  exciting  a  certain  amount  of  suspicion  and 
distrust,  and  that  wouldn't  do;  and  certainly  Dr. 
Ethel  Leon's  diploma  would  damn  Dr.  Noel  Leeth. 
Surely  the  vast  science  of  chemistry  covered  such 
a  simple  thing  as  the  removing  of  ink-writing  with 
out  leaving  a  tell-tale  stain  ?  I  must  consult  one  or 
the  other  of  the  several  clever  chemists  among  my 
acquaintances.  Nurse  Kenworthy's  brother  was 
one,  and  I  knew  him  intimately.  It  would  be  easy 
to  find  an  excuse  for  the  question.  Stay !  A  story 
I  was  reading  the  other  day  actually  dealt  with  it — 
Wilkie  Collins's  "After  Dark  and  Other  Stories" 
was  the  volume,  and  "Sister  Rose"  was  the  story. 
Yes,  there  must  be  such  a  prescription  after  all, 
or  such  a  careful  artist  would  never  have  written 
of  it — when  the  whole  story  hung  on  it !  Ah ! 
Well,  I  would  get  that  prescription  on  some  plea 
or  the  other,  from  Edward  Kenworthy,  without  a 
moment's  unnecessary  delay,  and,  meanwhile,  I 
must  study  the  name  as  it  was  written,  practise 
writing  it  like  the  forger  I  meant  to  be,  and  copy 
the  false  name  in  its  place  as  like  as  possible. 

I  did  it  all.  On  the  morning  I  left  Mrs.  Rice's, 
several  days  later,  the  certificate  was  ready,  my 
trunks  were  packed,  the  lonely  cottage  was  secured- 
My  trunks,  containing  all  my  now  useless  female 
apparel,  which  were  thought  to  have  been  ex 
pressed  to  the  cottage,  were  really  expressed  to  an 
express  office  in  New  York  to  await  my  instruc- 


282  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

tions — and  I  may  say  here  that  I  disposed  of  their 
contents  afterward  to  one  of  those  convenient  em 
poriums  for  second-hand  clothing.  I  said  good-by 
at  Mrs.  Rice's  all  round,  having  impressed  on 
every  one  that  they  must  keep  away  from  me  until 
I  was  quite  settled;  that,  in  my  colossal  self-con 
fidence,  I  wanted  no  help,  and  would  brook  no  in 
terference,  and  intended  to  surprise  them.  There 
were  many  hearty  allusions  to  my  first  house-warm 
ing,  which  I  had  to  respond  to  in  kind,  and  I  took 
my  leave  forever  of  these  kindly  folk. 

I  had  some  shopping  to  do  before  proceeding  to 
my  new  home — some  momentous  shopping !  This 
shopping,  supposed  to  be  entirely  in  the  way  of 
house-furnishing,  was  principally  the  securing  of 
my  first  temporary  masculine  outfit.  It  tried  my 
nerves  severely,  for  when  I  walked  into  a  man's 
clothing  store,  and  asked  to  be  shown  some  dark, 
serviceable  ready-made  suits,  suitable  for  a  slight 
youth  of  about  twenty,  I  fancied  the  civil  young 
man,  who  attended  to  me  helpfully,  must  surely 
guess  to  what  use  I  intended  to  put  my  conveniently 
"invalid  nephew's"  suit.  I  bought  a  light  over 
coat  as  well,  and  I  looked  to  this,  seeing  that  I 
took  care  it  should  be  fairly  long,  to  break  the 
shock  the  loss  of  my  skirts  would  occasion  me. 
The  clerk  was  profuse  in  his  offers  of  exchange  in 
case  of  the  non-suitability  of  either  or  both  pur 
chases. 

It  was  easier  buying  the  other  things — the  shirts, 


EPILOGUE  283 

collars,  cuffs,  underclothing,  ties,  boots,  hat,  etc. 
Still,  I  blessed  my  jealous  care  of  my  late  dear 
father's  wardrobe,  which  made  me  competent  to 
lay  in  a  complete,  temporary  masculine  outfit — to 
be  renewed  later,  of  course,  in  my  new  character, 
in  the  great  wilderness  of  New  York.  I  was  care 
ful,  of  course,  in  making  my  purchases,  to  visit 
only  the  stores  where  I  was  absolutely  unknown, 
and,  to  avoid  particular  notice,  the  parcels  were 
directed  to  be  sent  simply  to  "Miss  Leon."  Before 
setting  about  these  vital  purchases  I  had  invested 
in  one  or  two  other  little  things  necessary  to  carry 
out  my  intentions,  and  to  cover  my  day's  sojourn 
in  the  cottage,  for  I  intended  to  leave  New  Orleans 
that  very  evening  as  Dr.  Noel  Leeth.  I  now  called 
and  withdrew  my  conveniently  portable  funds  from 
their  places  of  safe  keeping,  and  my  errands  in 
town  were  all. accomplished. 

So  I  proceeded  to  my  new  abode.  I  passed  an 
unforgetable  day,  eating  and  resting,  and  posting 
myself  up,  by  means  of  books  and  pamphlets  I 
had  provided  myself  with,  as  to  the  journeys  by 
land  and  sea  which  lay  before  me.  As  soon  as 
dusk  approached  I  made  all  secure  and  dark  and 
began  my  delicate  task.  It  did  not  take  me  long 
to  transform  Ethel  Leon  into  Noel  Leeth,  although 
I  did  everything  with  the  utmost  care.  I  surveyed 
the  result  in  the  good-sized  mirror  I  had  bought — 
surveyed  it  critically  from  all  points — and  felt  satis 
fied!  How  easy  it  isto  disguise  one's  self  beyond 


284  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

the  passing  recognition  of  one's  nearest!  The 
difficulty  is  to  maintain  the  disguise  at  constant 
close  quarters.  I  felt  sure  my  father,  chancing 
upon  me  in  the  streets,  would  have  passed  me  by 
unknowingly,  and,  as  for  the  other  point,  was  I 
not  going  to  flee  the  danger — travel  far  away  from 
my  people  and  my  friends  ? 

Well,  my  disguise  perfected,  I  made  things  as 
right  and  as  pleasant  as  I  could  in  a  letter  to  my 
landlady,  enclosing  her  another  month's  rent  in 
lieu  of  warning — -I  had  advanced  one  already  in 
lieu  of  references — and  bequeathing  to  her  the  few 
articles  of  furniture  I  had  been  obliged  to  get,  to 
console  her  for  the  riddle  with  which  she  would  be 
confronted.  Then  I  burnt  the  clothes  I  had  been 
wearing,  and  my  hair,  and  all  tell-tale  traces,  never 
leaving  the  fires  I  had  kindled  until  they  had  com 
plete^  done  their  work.  It  was  dark  when  I 
closed  and  locked  the  cottage  door  behind  me, 
slipped  the  key  into  the  landlady's  letter,  and  regis 
tered  the  same  at  the  nearest  post-office.  I  was 
very  nervous,  but  hopeful  and  happy.  A  dread 
was  upon  me  of  meeting  someone  I  knew  on  my 
way  to  the  station — not  that  they  would  recognize 
me,  but  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  pass  them  quite 
naturally — however,  I  was  spared  that  ordeal. 

I  was  much  relieved  to  find  that  no  one  took  the 
slightest  notice  of  me  whatever.  I  caught  my 
train  comfortably,  and  arrived  duly  in  New  York. 
I  took  the  next  steamer  to  Barbados,  where  I  also 


EPILOGUE  285 

arrivqd  duly.  No  one,  so  far,  has  questioned  the 
bona  fides  of  Dr.  Noel  Leeth.  I  will  add  a  line 
or  so  to  this  as  time  goes  on,  and  anything  of  im 
portance  happens. 

I  have  been  here  now  for  some  years.  Success 
has  attended  me,  thank  God!  And  I  am  proud 
and  happy  in  it — ah,  far  more  than  I  can  express ! 
I  have  built  up  a  thriving  practice,  and  am  highly 
respected  and  popular.  No  one  has  suspected  my 
sex — but  I  have  been  so  careful !  The  dread  that 
it  may  come  to  light  and  spoil  all  is  ever  upon  me, 
and  it  makes  me  cautiously  affect  the  character  of 
a  reserved  recluse  as  much  as  I  can  without  giving 
offence.  I  have  taught  myself  to  smoke — only 
cigarettes ! — and  learnt  to  like  it.  Dr.  Leeth  also 
drinks  a  little,  a  very  little — just  enough  to  make 
him  appear  manly.  I  take  the  Japan,  Brooklyn, 
and  Dublin  papers,  in  order  to  know  at  least  when 
any  of  my  kin  shuffle  off  this  mortal  coil !  The 
thought  of  their  concern  for  me  is  the  one  drop  of 
alloy  in  my  cup  of  triumphant  joy.  .  .  .but  I  can 
not  give  up  my  career,  I  cannot  endanger  it,  even 
for  their  dear  sakes.  How  disgusted  they  would 
be  with  me  if  they  knew  all,  the  conventional 
darlings !  They  wouldn't  rest  until  they  found 
some  way  of  bringing  what  they  would  term  "an 
unseemly  masquerade"  to  an  end.  No,  no!  I 
must  be  satisfied.  They  will  forget  me.  .  .  .no 
doubt  they  have  forgotten  me. 


286  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

I  took  the  New  Orleans  papers  for  a  while  as 
well.  What  a  consternation  I  caused!  It  in 
terested  me  hugely  to  read  of  it  all — except  Ettie's 
and  Seth's  wasted  energies,  and  bitter  anxiety.  .  .  . 
that  hurt  badly.  But  I  took  the  papers  until  I 
ceased  to  figure  in  their  pages,  and  it  was  unani 
mously  decided  that  mine  was  a  case  of  suicide — 
that  the  waters  mysteriously  received  my  body,  and 
jealously  refused  to  part  with  it. 

This  delicious  but  puzzling  climate  is  rapidly 
accentuating  my  disguise — I  hardly  know  myself, 
and  I  am  grateful  for  it.  Again  God  be  thanked — 
I  am  busy,  useful,  and  beloved. 

****** 

My  Brooklyn  paper  tells  me  that  Etta  is  dead ! 
I  have  cried  in  secret  over  this  all  out  of  keeping 
with  the  carefully  acquired  fortitude  of  Dr.  Noel 
Leeth.  The  bald  announcement  of  her  passing, 
and  nothing  more,  no  hope  of  anything  more,  is 
inexpressively  painful  to  me.  My  heart  hungers 
for  a  few  details,  which  might  comfort;  and 
picture,  in  default  of  them,  circumstances  which 
only  torture.  I  am  haunted  by  my  precious  little 
sister,  who  has  slipped  away  from  me  beyond 
recall,  and  without  the  kiss  of  parting.  I  see  her 
in  a  thousand  wounding  remembrances,  yet  always 
winsome,  tender,  and  engaging.  Poor  Seth,  dear 
old  comrade  of  my  youth !  God  help  him  to  bear 
his  loss  bravely.  Good-by,  Ettie,  my  pretty  little 
darling !  It  is  only  here  that  I  can  speak  of  you, 


EPILOGUE  287 

and  blot  the  words  out  with  my  rushing  tears ;  you 
are  nothing  in  the  world,  of  course,  sweetheart,  to 

Dr.  Noel  Leeth! 

****** 

Seth  is  here!  I  came  across  him  at  his  hotel, 
where  I  was  visiting  a  patient.  I  recognized  him 
at  once,  although  I  saw  he  did  not  know  me.  How 
should  he?  It  is  time  I  gave  some  description  of 
myself  as  I  now  appear.  I  have  exposed  myself 
mercilessly  to  the  tropical  sun  and  heat,  and  my 
skin  is  tanned  to  tawniness,  and  dried  and  wrinkled, 
and  my  frizzed  hair  is  thoroughly  grizzled,  al 
most  white !  I  wear  a  smoke-colored  pince-nez  in 
the  daytime,  and  my  accent  is  now  a  pronounced 
West  Indian  drawl.  I  declare  I  was  proud  of 
myself  when  I  saw  how  little  he  was  changed,  dear 
boy!  Neverthless,  and  in  spite  of  my  natural  de 
light  at  seeing  my  dear  old  friend  and  brother,  I 
was  absurdly  and  quite  uncontrollably  panic- 
stricken  by  the  unexpected  encounter,  and  could  do 
nothing  but  rush  away.  He  wanted  to  speak  to 
me,  and  my  heart  ached  to  hear  what  he  had  to 
say — but  I  felt  I  couldn't  risk  it  until  I  had  my 
self  more  under  command.  I  was  rude  to  him,  I 
am  afraid,  but  I  felt  I  had  to  flee  at  once  or  give 
myself  away.  Of  course  I  mean  to  see  him  again, 
when  I  can  trust  myself,  and  hear  what  he  has 
to  say. 

I  have  made  my  apology  to  Seth,  and  he  has 


288  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

received  it  perfectly.  It  is  good  to  talk  to  him 
again !  However  shall  I  bear  to  let  him  go,  poor 
bereaved  wanderer?  To  my  surprise  he  wants  to 
see  my  patient  at  the  hotel,  but  I  cannot  let  him 
do  so.  At  first  he  said  he  thought  she  might  be 
a  friend  to  whom,  as  she  was  ill  and  alone,  he 
might  be  of  some  service;  then,  when  he  found 
me  unsympathetic,  he  confessed  to  a  deeper  motive 
and  begged  me  to  grant  him  another  interview. 
Of  course  I  will !  I  can't  resist  seeing  as  much  of 
him,  and  keeping  him  as  close  to  me,  as  possible. 
I  am  savagely  hungry  over  him,  as  a  bit  of  the 
dear,  long-abandoned  but  unforgetable  past.  I 
have  invited  him  to  dine  and  spend  to-morrow 
evening  with  me. 

He  has  come  and  gone.  He  is  looking  for  me! 
Looking  for  me  with  the  dogged  persistence  of  a 
dauntlessly  obstinate  man,  with  no  other  interest 
in  life.  He  does  not  believe  in  the  suicide  theory — 
he  thinks  I  am  alive;  and,  if  he  is  wrong  and  I 
am  dead,  he  still  means  to  find  out  how  I  died. 
I  tremble  while  I  write  it ....  how  will  it  all 
end?  He  hasn't  the  faintest  suspicion  of  me — I 
don't  see  how  he  can  have ! — but  he  thinks  my 
patient  at  his  hotel  may  prove  to  be  me!  I  must 
let  him  see  her  to  relieve  his  mind — I  have  pro 
mised  to,  when  I  can  do  so  without  disturbing  her. 
I  have  done  my  best  to  convince  him  that  she  is  a 
stranger,  but  unsuccessfully,  I  fear.  It  grieves  me 


EPILOGUE  289 

to  see  him  suffering  unnecessarily,  but  what  can 
I  do?     I  am  afraid  she  will  die. 

My  patient  is  dead  and  Seth's  heart  is  at  rest. 
I  could  only  show  her  to  him  dead  after  all — it 
was  my  first  opportunity.  He  suffered  hugely 
before  he  looked  at  her,  and  so  did  I.  Well,  the 
episode  is  finished,  but  I  know  the  chance  acquain 
tanceship  of  Dr.  Noel  Leeth  and  Mr.  Seth  Lomack 
is  going  to  be  confirmed.  We  are  mutually  drawn 
to  each  other — how  could  it  be  otherwise?  He 
does  not  know  me,  and  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid 
that  he  will;  nevertheless,  I  shall  continue  to  be 
very  cautious  with  him,  because  there  is  sometimes 
a  puzzled,  intent  expression  in  his  eyes  when  he 
looks  at  me,  which,  if  I  do  not  exactly  fear,  I  do 
not  care  to  see. 

Time  creeps  on.  Seth  is  still  looking  for  me, 
against  all  Dr.  Leeth's  protestations  of  the  absurd 
ity  of  it.  He  has  threshed  out  Barbados,  and  is 
now  exploring  the  other  islands.  But  he  has  made 
Barbados  his  headquarters,  and  is  never  very  long 
away  from  here.  We  are  now  fast  friends.  At 
times  I  see  I  puzzle  him;  at  times  he  makes  me  a 
little  nervous.  But  the  truth  is  safe  from  him,  I 
am  sure.  Oh,  if  he  would  but  cease  to  seek  me, 
and  be  satisfied  to  live  on  here — my  friend!  It 
would  be  sweet, 
19 


290  A  STRANGE  RECORD 


Addle  and  Dickie  Leigh  are  here  too !  Addie's 
health  has  been  failing  for  some  time,  and  they 
have  come  here  for  the  benefit  of  the  warmer 
climate  and  to  see  Seth.  I  have  been  asked  to 
attend  her — Seth  asked  me  if  I  would  mind! 
Mind?  I  am  just  crazy  to  see  and  hear  her 
again ....  I  can't  possibly  refuse  the  temptation, 
although  perhaps  it  would  be  beter  not  to  run  the 
risk.  I  am  decidedly  nervous  at  the  prospect  of 
meeting  her,  in  spite  of  my  confidence  in  my  trans 
formation.  A  woman's  intuition  is  so  keen  and 
strong!  But — I  must  go  to  her,  I  simply  can't 
keep  away. 

I  have  seen  her  and  him.  It  was  so  funny  to 
be  only  just  professionally  interested  and  reassur 
ing,  when  every  nerve  in  my  body  tingled  to  take 
her  in  my  arms  and  cover  her  pretty  faded  face 
with  eager  kisses,  but  I  managed  it — somehow. 
There  is  nothing  seriously  wrong  with  her;  she  is 
only  completely  run  down;  I  have  no  fear  of  her 
not  soon  rallying  and  making  a  complete  recovery. 
Just  now  she  is  very  weak  and  dozy;  she  hardly 
noticed  me.  Dickie  Leigh  has  changed  very  much 
too;  and  he  was  not,  I  thought,  very  favorably 
impressed  with  Dr.  Noel  Leeth.  Fickle  man ! 
He  used  to  be  very  fond  of  Ethel  Leon. 

Addle  and  I  are  great  friends,  and  she  doesn't 
know  me !  Still,  I  think  it  necessary  to  take  twice 


EPILOGUE  291 

as  many  precautions  with  her  as  I  do  with  Seth. 
For  instance,  my  visits  are  always  very  brief  and 
not  too  frequent,  and  my  smoke-colored  glasses  and 
West  Indian  drawl  are  always  very  much  to  the 
fore.  She  wants  me  to  call  oftener  and  to  stay 
longer  with  her,  dear  heart,  but  I  daren't — so  I 
plead  professional  engagements.  She  is  almost 
well  again,  and  they  are  going  away  soon. 
Heigho !  I  don't  know  whether  to  be  grieved  or 
relieved,  the  strain  is  so  great! 

I  have  been  guilty  of  a  grave  indiscretion,  and 
its  consequences  have  been  severe.  This  is  how 
it  happened.  Addie  and  Dickie  gave  a  farewell 
dinner-party  one  night  to  the  friends  they  have 
made  here,  and  the  next  morning  I  found  Addie 
very  much  exhausted  by  the  fatigue  and  the  addi 
tional  trial  of  a  sleepless  night  from  neuralgia.  I 
sent  her  in  a  sleeping  powder,  after  recommending 
her  to  go  to  bed  again.  I  called  again  in  the  after 
noon,  and  found  her  alone  in  her  sitting  room,  fast 
asleep  one  the  sofa.  She  had  taken  the  powder 
evidently,  but,  wilful  girl,  had  not  gone  back  to 
bed,  and  here  she  was  fully  dressed  in  a  deep  re 
pose.  I  stole  up  to  her  and  looked  down  on  her 
intently.  I  spoke  to  her  quietly,  and  she  lay 
as  before.  I  touched  her  face  and  hair  gently, 
and  lingeringly,  without  disturbing  her  in  the 
least.  Then  I  obeyed  the  strong  impulse  which 
suddenly  took  complete  possession  of  me,  and 


292  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

stooped  and  tenderly  kissed  the  unconscious  face. 
And,  in  that  instant,  I  was  aware  that  Seth  and 
Dickie  were  standing  horror-stricken  in  the  door 
way  !  I  was  strangely  enough  instinctively  aware 
of  it,  for  my  back  was  toward  them  and  I  heard 
no  sound  but  the  closing  of  the  door,  as  I  turned 
and  faced  them.  The  jealous,  hot-tempered  little 
husband  was  infuriated  at  the  doctor's  presump 
tion.  Oblivious  of  his  sleeping  wife,  he  advanced 
upon  me  with  ready  uplifted  arm  and  blazing  eyes. 
Then,  as  I  stolidly  awaited  his  attack,  though  in 
wardly  cursing  myself  hotly  for  my  reckless  folly, 
I  saw  Seth  spring  forward  and  seize  my  threaten 
ing  enemy  fiercely,  and  heard  his  ominously  sup 
pressed  voice  utter: 

"If  you  strike  him;,  I'll  break  every  bone  in  your 
skin!" 

In  the  sudden  pause  which  now  prevailed  Dick 
and  I  stared  at  Seth's  white,  quivering  face  in 
amazement;  then  I  recollected  myself,  and  made 
my  excuses. 

"An  old  man's  privilege....!  meant  nothing 
but  fatherly  regard.  .  .  .had  every  respect  for 
them  both.  .  .  .hoped  I  was  understood.  .  .  . 
begged  to  apologize  and  withdraw,  and  would  cer 
tainly  not  intrude  on  them  again,"  etc. 

Something  to  this  effect  I  stuttered,  and  then 
made  my  exit.  Seth  followed  me — to  apologize 
for  presuming  to  fight  my  battles  for  me !  I  own 
I  did  not  like  his  attitude.  Such  warmth  was  all 


EPILOGUE  293 

out  of  keeping  with  the  circumstances.  It  com 
pletely  unnerved  me.  However,  I  passed  it  over 
as  well  as  I  could.  Seth  is  an  impulsive,  chival 
rous  fellow,  and  I  must  not  forget  that  I  am  a  frail 
old  man — as  Richelieu  says  "A  very  weak  old 


They  are  gone,  dear  Addie,  and  naughty,  thick 
headed  Dick!  Of  course  I  kept  my  word  and 
never  called  on  them  after  the  scene  with  Dick, 
but  accident  favored  me  and  I  met  them  before 
they  departed.  It  was  a  keen  satisfaction  to  be 
able  to  wish  Addie  Godspeed,  and  I  was  glad,  too, 
that  Dick  shook  hands  with  me. 

****** 

I  am  not  feeling  well — have  indeed  been  feeling 
badly  for  a  long  time.  I  fear,  unless  I  take  a 
thorough  change  and  a  long  rest,  I  shall  break 
down  altogether.  So  I  have  decided  on  a  sea- 
voyage  and  I  shall  go  first  to  England.  Seth,  I 
am  delighted  to  discover,  intends  to  go  with  me. 
All  my  preparations  are  made,  so  good-by,  little 
paper,  lest  we  meet  not  again.  If  you  only  suc 
ceed  in  making  those  dear  ones  who  survive  me 
understand  and  forgive  me,  you  will  have  served 
my  purpose  well. 

ETHEL  LEON, 
Alias  NOEL  LEETH. 


294  A  STRANGE  RECORD 

NOTE  BY  THE  AUTHOR 

The  main  incident  of  this  story  is  founded  upon 
a  fact. 

I  have  met  a  lady  who  knew  Dr.  Noel  Leeth 
intimately  for  many  years,  and  I  conversed  with 
her  upon  the  subject  of  this  narrative.  She 
solemnly  assured  me  that  no  suspicion  of  the  truth 
ever  crossed  her  mind.  The  sex  of  the  original  of 
Dr.  Leeth  was  not  discovered  until  death. 


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